


Forget Your Perfect Offering

by Thatswherethelightgetsin



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Edited to fix the typos Sep 2020, M/M, POV Alternating, diverts from the end of series three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 175,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23727550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatswherethelightgetsin/pseuds/Thatswherethelightgetsin
Summary: John, horrified by what he finds he’s capable of after Dufresne, decides to run. Of course, he should have known better than to assume he would ever be free of James Flint. Not a week after leaving, he sees an opportunity for a simple bit of robbery that turns out to be a lot more complicated than he ever imagined. Whoever Thomas Hamilton is, he’s strange, and not what he pretends to be - however grateful he seems to be that John rescued him from his captors. Still, John decides that perhaps a simple partnership can’t hurt, right?A story that explores what would happen if Thomas joined the story of Black Sails at the start of series four, and what John not playing along would have meant.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver, Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton, Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton/John Silver, Thomas Hamilton/John Silver
Comments: 214
Kudos: 221





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are loved and cherished. I’m agarlandoffreshlycuttears over on tumblr if you wanna come chat about BS there too.  
> Edit, Sep 2020: I’ve just done a complete re-edit of this fic. Mostly for typos and grammar stuff but also some minor plot points too. Enjoy and please let me know what you think! 
> 
> Thank you, Ash. You are the reason this story exists - I mean I actually only wrote it for you. But you've also listened to me rant and given me so much advice and support. It wouldn't exist without you.

John was alone. He smiled, pulling his lips wide, hoping it might trigger some feeling that wasn’t the desolate, empty pit in his stomach that he’d been feeling for days. It didn’t work. The sense of relief at finally having cut ties, at being free again, at least helped him breathe more freely even if it didn’t actually cheer him any. The clawing terror that had been climbing up his throat since the night he’d made his decision to leave was at least mostly gone. Only to be replaced with a sickly, anxious feeling that made it hard to concentrate on anything apart from what was happening in the life he’d just left behind. That was preferable, however, to what had gone before; he just had to learn to live with it until it faded. There was no doubt that it would. It was quite remarkable what faded given enough time and distance. 

He’d made the right decision, he was sure. Both for him and those that he’d left behind. It was better they knew sooner that he wasn’t to be relied on. There was no point in letting the pretence continue. He should never have let himself get so close in the first place. He knew better than that, had trained his whole life to make sure it didn’t happen. It was especially troubling that he hadn’t seen the shift coming sooner. He alone was at fault for that, he knew. He’d been working so hard to ensure his own security, his own usefulness and then the damn leg, that he’d missed all the signs.

He shook his head. These same thoughts had been cycling through his head for days now. Every time he wasn’t concentrating on the matter at hand his mind would drift back to Nassau and he would once again be thinking the same few things again and again. And it was pointless. He’d made a clean break. He was alone and that was better. That was safer and they would be fine. Or, well, he supposed it wasn’t his business if they were or not now. The terror he felt when he considered what awful fate they might be suffering without him would fade. All feelings did eventually. Time and space. That was all he needed. A new name and a distraction. The leg would be both a blessing and a curse now he was alone. It would make him vulnerable, no doubt, but it would also ensure that people underestimated him. That was an asset if you knew how to play to it, and John was an expert at it. He could make it work, he didn’t need anyone else. 

He had a little money, enough that there was no immediate need to secure more and he needed to keep moving anyway, put some more distance between himself and his old life. The fear of being followed was not great but it had kept him moving at an uncomfortably fast pace. It was unlikely that Flint would send anyone - or have any clue _where_ to send them if he did - and surely Dufresne had no allies that would seek revenge. He’d only taken the time to stop and refresh his little pack of supplies for his life on the road. Nothing fancy, just a few tricks of the trade that he’d had little use for since he joined _The Walrus_. The pace he set himself was relentless, but every time he stopped he became anxious, jittery and had to start moving again before he calmed down.

He shook his head again, pressing harder into his leg as he walked. The jolt of pain that shot up through his thigh caused the distraction he needed to move his thoughts along. 

More distance and a better distraction. That was what he needed. Which was making the fact that nothing had caught his attention in the few days since he’d left a problem. At least two potential opportunities, that he would have previously been unable to resist, hadn’t stirred the slightest flicker of interest. Perhaps he’d had his fill of high adventure or, more worryingly, his threshold was now so high that he was going to need a little more than the option to swindle a bar-keep out of his night’s takings. That was a concern. Perhaps he was just rusty. He needed to get back in the game; he’d forced himself through much harder ordeals than being slightly bored by a mark. 

It was something of a relief when, a few nights later, he found something that sent a familiar tingle of interest down his spine. He was so relieved to find that the feeling hadn’t been numbed entirely that he was up and out of his chair before he’d given the matter any further thought. He’d only just stopped for the night at a very unremarkable inn when he saw it. Two men had entered and, very casual-looking, had enquired about a room. It was nothing, apart from _how_ causal they seemed. The way they shifted between looking keenly around the room, to smiling broadly at the keeper. They were hiding something and, given the way they were dressed (a bit _too_ clean, their boots a little _too_ cared for), that something was probably valuable. 

He smiled to himself. A little light robbery would be just the thing. Topping up his reserves so he could keep moving, a simple way to test his perhaps rusty skills and a nice distraction. All very simple. 

His pleasure only grew when he realised that there were more than two of them. Four, possibly five, people for guarding something that they didn’t want anyone else to know about. It might be a good enough haul that he wouldn’t need to stop moving for a month or more. That would take him far enough away that the distance would act as a balm of its own. A drastic change of location made it harder to remember where you’d been. What you’d left. 

He moved quickly. Finding where the haul was being kept was easy enough: a stable out the back of the inn, set far enough back from the road and the main building that it was unlikely anyone would see it by accident. There were another two men, very casually lingering outside it. John smiled to himself, this time with a flicker of real pleasure. After that it was a simple matter of drugging the first two men into what would mostly appear to be a drunken stupor. That was easily done with a casual offer of free drink that John had bought to celebrate the success of his new venture. That the men _were_ the venture didn’t need mentioning. They were out cold within two hours, leaving John free to sneak out to the stable and knock out the two remaining guards. He was so delighted with himself by the time he was opening the door to the stable that it was too late when he realised his mistake. 

Gold, he’d assumed. Perhaps something a little more difficult to move. But not… that. He sighed when the scant light from outside fell on the treasure held in the barn. 

“Of course,” he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. 

He bent down, a small frown on his face when the bundle on the floor didn’t stir at his approach. He regarded it evenly, his muscles still coiled tight, half expecting an attack. A hostage made things more complicated. But he’d come too far now, and more, he was _intrigued_. That feeling alone made it too good to pass up. When there was still no movement below him, he wondered for a long moment if it was in fact a body, not a hostage. He edged closer. No. The man was breathing, short, shallow breaths. John reached out a hand. 

“I’ve come to rescue you,” he said, for lack of a better opener. And it might be true. The most likely explanation was that the man had been taken for ransom and John could collect a reward for freeing him. Or, if needed, the ransom itself. 

There was still no reaction. He reached out further, trying to keep as far back as possible. If the man lunged at him there was little chance that he’d be able to keep his balance and it would be a shame to kill his first solo haul. But when his hand met the man’s arm he just flinched, curling inward but made no other move. 

John sighed and went to fetch the lamp from outside before looping around the man to get a better look at him. His eyes were closed, his face sweaty and tight with pain or fear. “We need to move,” John said, bringing the lamp closer to him, hoping the light would spark some movement. 

The man flinched again. “No,” he said. A plea rather than a refusal. 

John frowned. The man looked to be tall, tightly muscled, enough to cause an issue if he truly wanted to. Drugged perhaps? That would certainly keep him docile and easier to move. 

“I can’t go back,” the man murmured. “I can’t go back.”

“No,” John said, hoping to sound soothing. “You’re not going back. But we’ll need to get out of here if we’re to be sure. Can you stand?” 

The man finally blinked open his eyes. His pupils were huge. Definitely drugged. He looked at John for a long moment, like he was struggling to hold on to his words, to make sense of them. 

“Who are you?” he asked. 

His gaze was so unexpectedly sharp that John found himself saying, “John Silver, at your service,” before he’d had the chance to concoct a new name. It didn’t matter. The chances of the man remembering were slim. “We need to leave. I fear we have but a few moments to ensure our escape.” 

The man continued to stare for a brief moment before his eyes lost focus. John sighed, he’d seen many people in similar states and moving him was going to be incredibly difficult. If he still had both legs it would have been easier, the resentment he felt for it tasted bitter on his tongue at the thought. He pushed it aside and reached for the man, trying to pull him up and not topple over the same time. It was much harder than he’d even anticipated and he cursed softly, falling forward slightly before he managed to right himself. Finally the man attempted to move and after a few aborted attempts, staggered to his feet before promptly slumping against John. He huffed out a grunt of effort as he braced so as not to fall. His balance was much better than when he’d first lost the leg, but it was no means perfect. 

“Horses,” he said, pushing the man towards the four animals sharing the stable with them. John stared at the animals, regarding them quietly, while the man continued to sway absently at his side. It would be far easier with two. But the likelihood of the man fleeing, or more likely, falling off to his death, was too great. So he set free the first three and chose the largest to take with them. He huffed and grunted with the effort of getting them both mounted, losing precious time about it, but then they were underway. The man swayed in front of John, but seemed to at least be gripping with his legs. Muscle memory perhaps. 

They rode in silence, taking paths mostly at random. Their tracks would be hard to follow given the sheer amount of traffic that came and went to the inn, at least. He concentrated on moving vaguely West; they’d need a port or township if they were going to get word to the man’s family that he was alive. 

He continued until the sun was high in the sky. He would have liked to keep going but his passenger chose the moment of entering into a clearing in the trees to lean over and vomit before nearly toppling right off the horse into the mess. 

“Okay,” John sighed, “time for a rest.” 

He took the water that had been in the horse’s saddle bag, once they were safely on the ground, and offered it to the other man. But the offer was met with only a shake of the head. “It’s in the water,” he panted, trying to move back and finding he had nowhere to go. 

“Ah,” John said, then poured it out. Made sense. It was probably the only way to make sure he’d take it. “How long have they had you on it?” 

The man was pale, sweaty under his pale blond hair. “I’m not-” he started and trailed off. He was English, rich-born. Although the tan (only somewhat faded) and strong muscles suggested that he’d had to work recently. Hard, manual labour. Who was he? And why the hell was he being guarded by four men? Men careful enough to leave guards and take rooms they never intended to use? “It’s been weeks, I think. But, they kept me hooded and in a boat. I can’t-”

John nodded. “I don’t envy you the next few hours, then,” he said. “We should stay here until you’re through it.” 

“Who are you?” the man asked again, eyes studying John in a way that made him feel uncomfortable. It was a very assessing stare, the man’s eyes keen even through the fog of drugs and pain. 

“John,” he replied. “I’m here to help.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you needed help,” he answered smoothly. Then, because the man had clearly been through too much to be a complete fool and John never wasted a lie, “And men like you that need help usually pay well for it.” 

The man nodded, closing his eyes. John waited for a thanks that didn’t come. 

“I feel-” he said instead, eyes screwing tightly shut as he stumbled backwards. He lowered himself to the ground, not at all gracefully and ended in a very undignified sprawl. 

“Like your body’s turning itself inside out,” John supplied. “It’ll get worse before it gets better. I’m going to find some fresh water.” 

“You’re not worried that I’ll try to escape?” Just the words seemed to cause him effort, but he still attempted to push himself somewhat upright until he was slumped against a tree. 

John’s mouth quirked. “You won’t get far, even if you do. I wouldn’t recommend the wasted effort when I’m going to bring you water, which you’ll sorely need soon. You can leave and die or wait until I get back to help keep you alive.”

The man nodded, perhaps his energy was spent, or perhaps he wanted to seem like he was agreeing to allow himself the opportunity to escape. John should probably tie him to the tree, but was hesitant, it was still possible they were being tracked and having to untie him again would take more time than they would likely have to escape. He decided to leave him, seeing as how he appeared to be nearly asleep already (or was a good actor). He wouldn’t be long; they’d passed a stream very recently. 

He didn’t dawdle, but found himself wondering, as he made his way back to the clearing, if it might not be better if the man was gone when he got there. He was in no mind to become involved in something so complicated again so soon. Especially something that tangled him up with another person. He was still wrestling with the thought when he entered the clearing and found the man exactly where he’d left him. He’d slumped back to the ground, arms around his stomach and pain etched across every feature. He sighed, not sure if he felt relieved or disappointed. 

It wasn’t the first time that John had seen someone cut off from their access to opiates. He didn’t envy him the process, but perhaps after only a few weeks it wouldn’t be too bad. There were variables, and God only knew the condition he’d been in before he was drugged into compliance. 

John suspected it would be at least a day, and it ended up being two, of the two of them in the clearing while the man sweated and groaned like he was dying. Perhaps he thought he was; he didn’t ask and John offered no comment. There was no comfort to be had, even if John had been inclined to offer any, and he had other things to attend to. But he kept a close eye on him, hoping he might find a clue as to his identity while he was so vulnerable it would be impossible to offer any artifice. 

The nights were particularly unpleasant; the man didn’t beg or plead which was an improvement on the other times John had been witness to the process. In fact he hardly spoke at all. John suspected that he was used to having to keep quiet. Another mystery to add to all the others. The only coherent thing John managed to get out of him was that he didn’t want to ‘go back’. To where, wasn’t clear. A prison, he assumed, but it must have been a particularly unpleasant one judging from the dread pouring off him in waves. He didn’t call out for anyone which was another curiosity. Most men did. By the end of the second day, John knew that he had a prisoner who had had to learn to keep their pain to themselves and didn’t expect any kind of rescue. 

In other words, someone totally without value. 

The realisation nearly made up John’s mind to just leave him there. He would have, if he had another plan or somewhere else to go. It was a sad state of affairs, perhaps, to go from near-pirate king to no one, going nowhere. That thought kept him in the clearing. While he had the man he had options, there were possibilities that he might be able to turn to his advantage. 

On the third day, the man blinked his eyes open, his movements becoming more deliberate. The redness of his eyes, the bright shine of fever, was much reduced, John noted as he watched him carefully. His eyes settled on John, sitting across the clearing from him, watching him expectantly. “Water,” he croaked. 

John handed him the bottle in his hand. “Drink all of it, but slowly. I’ve some bread you can try after that if you keep it down. Then we’ve got to move.” 

The man didn’t respond, just took cautious sips from the bottle. He grimaced, perhaps at the taste, but perhaps at the sensation of water hitting an empty stomach. Once they’d both eaten, John stood, taking the rope he’d acquired and tying it around the man’s wrists. Neither made a comment about it, which surprised John a little, but perhaps the man was still too weak from the last two days for such protests. 

“Up,” John said, climbing to his feet. “We need to keep moving.”

“You still haven’t truly answered why you bothered to take me at all.” The man was on his feet, swaying slightly as he gazed at John. His voice was hoarse from disuse and he shifted his weight as he spoke, testing the rope at his wrists. It didn’t look like he was intending to attempt to remove them, more like he was seeing how comfortable they were. This was a man used to being bound. That had been clear enough from the scars about his wrists but John noted the easy way he took to being captive. This was not a new circumstance for him. “What am I to you?” 

“An opportunity,” he answered with hesitation, allowing himself his most charming of smiles as a memory echoed in his words. It was another bad omen, he was sure, but it didn’t stop him from leaning into it. “I saw an opportunity and I took it. Just couldn't help myself: it’s kind of a sickness.” 

“I see,” the man said, as though this wasn’t a surprise. “You’ll be wanting to know about my family back in England? For a ransom?” 

John paused. All he knew for sure was that the men John had taken him from had been determined to keep him a secret. This likely meant he had some value. The type of value he had wasn’t clear. Ransom did make the most sense. But if that were the case, why the scars about his wrists and ankles? If there was ransom to be had so easily there’d be no need for such long confinement. Nor would it make sense that he’d spent time labouring outside. 

All of which the man had to know. But he didn’t want _John_ to know it and that was enough to settle it for him that he best play along. “Yes,” he said. “Let’s see what Daddy is willing to pay. You’re an heir?” 

There was a flicker across the other man’s face, hardly there before he was nodding. Just once. Confidence clear in every line of his body. Perhaps if John wasn’t such a consummate liar himself he wouldn’t have noticed the deception. He felt a flush of pleasure at the thought. It had been so long since he’d met someone that might provide even the hint of a challenge. 

Flint and Madi aside - and John usually tried not to let his thoughts linger on either of them for too long - there really hadn’t been anyone that had made John want to know more in years. No one that made him want to enter into a battle of wills to see who would reveal all and who would, not to put too fine a point on it, end up dead or robbed blind. 

“We’ll need to get to a port,” John said. “Find some way to get a message back to England.”

The man’s eyes went to his missing leg. “We’ll be taking the same horse?” 

John set his jaw. “Try not to fall off,” he snapped, gesturing with his gun between the man and waiting horse. 

He paused only for a moment before complying. 

*** 

“You’re not going to introduce yourself?” John asked after what felt like hours. He’d expected the man to have questions. Lots of them. But he didn’t seem inclined to speak. He was still likely battling the after-affects of the drugs, but that wouldn’t stop most men. 

“You never asked me to,” he answered. 

“I think you’ll find I just did.” 

“Thomas,” the man said after a pause. 

“Tom,” he repeated, not trying in the least to make it sound less like a sneer. “Not much for formalities.”

“Thomas. And no,” Thomas agreed, tone mild. “Never was.”

“And your last name? That’s going to be important once we get where we’re going.” 

He let out a sigh. 

“Forgotten it?” John prodded. He’d been carrying his gun in one hand and considered gesturing with it, but it was probably a little on the nose. 

“No,” Thomas said. “I was considering lying about it.” 

John huffed a surprised lie. “You a wanted man?” Not a terrible outcome, there might be some bounty for him. 

Thomas looked almost amused, the first sign of emotion John had seen cross his face. The change in it was remarkable. “It’s possible,” he looked at John, “not one with a price of any real worth on his head, though.”

“So, you’re a criminal,” John sighed. This quick and easy distraction was getting more and more complicated by the moment. 

“Perhaps,” Thomas agreed stiffly. “Many have said so.” 

John shrugged off the questions that posed; they weren’t the most important thing currently. “So, you’re a petty criminal.”

This was met with an exhale of air, perhaps a laugh, perhaps a sigh. “No.” 

John frowned. “But you’ve got no money and no family that’ll pay your ransom.” 

“Correct.”

 _Fuck it all to hell._ “Then why the fuck did you have four men guarding and drugging you to the fucking gills to keep you compiant?” 

Thomas turned a little. His eyes were a clear blue, steady as they regarded him. “I thought you’d know.” 

“How the fuck would I know?” he snapped. He should just throw the man off his horse. He knew his name and face, which wasn’t ideal, but it might be better to just cut his losses now. But he wanted answers now, so when his question was met with silence he prompted him, irritably, nudging him with his elbow. “So? Your name? It’s the least you can do if you’re actually not going to be able to repay my saving you.” 

“Hamilton,” Thomas answered after a pause. There was no way to tell if it was his real name. Thomas Hamilton. It sounded like the sort of name that would suit him, but there was no way to be sure. 

“Well, Mr Hamilton,” John said, deciding there was no choice but to go with it. “What did you think I might do to you once you admitted that you have no value whatsoever?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Hamilton said. 

John let out a slow breath. He was invested, but not so heavily that his losses would be so bad. He could still cut and run. There was no need to stay tethered to this man. But he did so hate to admit defeat. And as he’d just pointed out himself, clearly someone thought he was important enough to haul him to the ends of the Earth, when they could have just left him to rot wherever he’d been previously. “And you have no idea what it is about you that might make you valuable? Did you not consider the fact that I might kill you here and now for telling me that?” 

“I did,” Hamilton said, after just a moment’s pause. “But, I do have value.”

“Right,” John sighed, annoyed at himself for even playing along, “and you are hoping that I can do all the work of unlocking it for you so we share in the spoils? Or as is more likely, both be murdered immediately.”

“You believe I’ve been brought all this way just to be killed?” 

“Stranger things have happened,” he said. “For all I know, they want to try you publicly for your crimes and hang you.”

“No,” Hamilton said, sounding so sure it startled John into silence. 

The silence stretched on for a long time. At first John used it to try and puzzle out a route forward, but soon gave up. Something would occur to him sooner or later. The silence dragged on as the day wore on. It didn’t feel pointed. Thomas wasn’t ignoring him to make a point. He simply didn’t speak. It bothered John, though he wasn’t sure why. He’d always preferred chatter to casual quietness, but it was more than that. He man’s muteness unnerved him. It felt unnatural. 

“Why don’t you talk?” he asked later that night as they sat near the fire John had built. This time John had tied Hamilton up. He didn’t actually think he would leave, but better safe than sorry. 

Thomas looked at him. “I talk,” he answered, somehow proving John’s point. 

“Only when talked to,” he pointed out, needlessly, surely. 

“I-” Thomas seemed to run out of words. He looked away. “I’ve not had much occasion to speak.” 

“Since they took you?” 

A nod. 

“How long?” 

A shrug. “Ten years ago? Perhaps longer now.” 

John let out a low whistle. “Well, you must have some choice observations to let out by now then.” 

Thomas looked at him. Then away. 

“Come on,” John said, unsure why he was trying, other than the silence was boring and the night was long. “There must be something, some meditations on life you can share.” 

“At first, I think-” Again the words seemed to trail off. He shook his head. “If there were, they are gone now.”

“Like an unstopped bottle of water?” John asked. 

Thomas’ mouth quirked. “An apt comparison.”

“You’ve forgotten how to have a conversation.”

Another shrug. “They said I was mad.” The words seemed to cost him and he swallowed heavily, staring at the fire but obviously not seeing it. 

John watched him wearily. “Were you?” 

“Not at first,” Thomas said. “But, now…” He blinked and looked away, through the trees, seeing something John couldn’t. “I think perhaps a part of me died and now…” 

“You’re not mad,” John said, certain but unsure why he was offering the comfort. “I’ve seen mad, more than most. Quiet’s not mad. It’s just… quiet.” 

“You can’t know that.” Thomas watched him, looking almost hopeful. “I feel mad, sometimes.” 

John shrugged. “Never met someone who didn’t. That’s just life. You need to live it, probably, to tell the difference.”

“Why do you care?” 

John smiled. “Just making conversation.” 

“Because I need the practice.” 

John’s laugh surprised both of them. Thomas blinked at him, as though unsure how to react, but the slight lift in his mouth was oddly gratifying. “Sure,” John agreed. “But not now because we should both sleep.” 

Thomas nodded, apparently done with the verbal part of the conversation. John decided not to push it. He could wait to continue asking questions and gathering information. They likely had more than enough time for him to unearth what exactly had happened to him and figure out how to turn it to his advantage. 

*****

“Your guards didn’t let slip where you might be going? Anything about their plans?” he asked, the next morning as they ate yet more old bread. John couldn’t wait to find somewhere that he’d feel even part-way safe eating a real meal. 

“No,” Thomas said, then seemed to will himself into further speech. Perhaps their conversation last night had been playing on his mind. “The only name they mentioned was a Captain Flint,” he said.

“Flint?” John asked, his eyes flicking to Thomas as his stomach clenched. Of fucking _course_. All roads seemed to lead right back to him. His skin prickled uncomfortably at the thought. “They were taking you to Flint?” 

“No,” he shook his head. “They seemed concerned where he was, but not in a way that made me think they were hoping to find him.” 

John frowned. So this man was important to Flint’s enemies in some way? “You know of Flint?” 

Thomas looked up at him, expression unreadable. “He killed my father.” 

John raised his eyebrows. “Why?” 

“I don’t know,” he said. “My father was not… well liked. But I wasn’t… I don’t know.” 

John watched him closely. Perhaps another tact, then. “So you have a vendetta against Flint?” 

Thomas looked away. 

_Ah._ “A reason for gratitude, then?” 

Thomas’ mouth twisted into something that might have been a smile. “Somewhere between the two, I think. My father being gone was the reason that I was allowed to leave… I was able to be taken to Savannah. So, I suppose he’s indirectly responsible for an upturn in my recent fortunes.”

“Most men might take a spot of father-killing as reason to hate someone,” John prodded. 

“Most men did not have my father,” he said, looking at his hands. 

There was silence. John should leave it there. Flint just caused issues. Better to never mention him again. “What else do you know of Flint?” he asked, barely a moment later because self-control was never his speciality. 

Hamilton shrugged. “He’s a pirate of much disrepute. I haven’t exactly been in the position to keep up with current events.”

“But you know he killed your father? You’re sure?” 

“I wasn’t there,” he said. “But I see no reason for it to have been a lie. My… acquaintance, Peter, told me while he was having the transfer arranged.”

“Peter?” John asked. A man of means was a promising avenue. 

Hamilton looked up, the same realisation no doubt occurring to him. “You mean to ransom me to Peter?” He smiled. “I’m afraid you might be overestimating his affection for me.” 

“He cared enough to ship you to Savannah, didn’t he? What’s his full name?”

There was another pause, more calculations that John couldn’t follow. “Ashe,” he said slowly. “Lord Peter Ashe.” 

John sighed. “Of fucking course.” That was entirely just like his luck. Both their lucks, come to think of it. 

He frowned. “What?” 

“He’s dead.” Perhaps he might have softened the blow, but there really was no point now. The outcome was the same, sugar coated or not. 

There was a long beat of silence. “Oh,” Hamilton said. “How?” 

“Flint and Vane,” John answered, again, no point in avoiding the truth. “Killed him and burned his whole town down to the ground.”

Thomas looked pale. That might have been the last person he knew in the world. John wondered if he ought to apologise, but knew it would sound hollow. 

“Why?” Hamilton said into the silence some time later. 

“Why what?” John asked. 

“Why did they kill him?” 

“Ashe was going to try Flint, hang him. But first he killed his…” John paused, still not sure how, exactly, to describe Mrs Barlow’s relationship to Flint, “woman.” It was true, he thought, at least after some fashion. 

“You know Flint,” Hamilton said, watching John carefully. 

There was no point in lying about it. “I worked with him. Recently.” His voice sounded tight and he resisted the urge to clear his throat. 

“It ended badly.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Things with Flint usually do.” 

“He betrayed you?” 

John looked away, not knowing how to answer. Not really sure _of_ the answer. “I had someone and Flint was my… my friend, I suppose. But then they-” He shook his head, running out of words. 

“Ah,” Thomas said. “They found each other.” 

John’s mouth curved a little. It wasn’t true, not in the way Hamilton meant it. But they had both been more interested in a vision than they ever could have been in him. Perhaps that was a betrayal, after a fashion. He settled on a shrug. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It seems Flint has taken things from both of us.” 

John shrugged. “It’s not the same. But he was my friend.”

“Until he wasn’t,” Hamilton finished. 

“Until he wasn’t.” 

“Then perhaps we have something in common after all?” Hamilton asked softly. 

“A vague sense of anger towards a pirate captain?” John asked. “It’s not much to build a friendship on.” 

“Great ones have been built on less.” 

“I don’t need friends,” John said, coolly, wanting to put an end to that line of thought immediately. “I’m not in the market for any.” 

Hamilton didn’t look affronted. “A partnership, then.” 

John sighed. That seldom worked out better than friendships. But, he was still faced with a distinct lack of options. And Hamilton was smart, he was presentable. He was a quick study. He would make himself useful if he set his mind to it. “A partnership,” he nodded. “We find out what you were being used for, we split the spoils.” 

Hamilton nodded. “And then we both go free.” 

A partnership with a defined ending that neither of them would be interested in extending when it came to its natural end. It couldn’t be better than that. John nodded. “Fine.” 

***

John wasn’t sure entirely where the conversation had left them. They were not partners in any true sense, he wasn’t sure that he could trust Hamilton not to run the moment the opportunity arose. John still needed him, but there was no real way that the opposite was true. He would need time. Most people warmed to him eventually, although Hamilton was an odd case. Chances were he would need a little longer, but John could be the first friend he’d had in ten years. That might spark some loyalty. 

He untied him the next morning. 

“Might help you ride,” he said, when Hamilton stared at him blankly. 

He rubbed at his wrists absently. “It would be easier with you on the front.” 

The thought was disconcerting. “We’ve managed this far.”

Hamilton just shrugged and went to the waiting horse, apparently not interested in further discussion. 

It remained stilted for the rest of the day. John kept up a fairly steady stream of chatter, mostly to fill the silence. He picked a few carefully, and some practically true, stories from his past. Hamilton listened, but offered little in the way of response. He resisted all attempts to elicit information about his own past. 

John was tired, a little irritable, by the time they made camp that night. His leg was moving from a continued ache into something that might be called low-level agony. It would be better if he could remove the peg, but it felt like weakness and there was no room for that now. 

He sat close to Hamilton around the fire, still alert to the idea that he might run. Not that he seemed to be minded to it. If there was a spirit for rebellion in him it seemed to have been muted. At least for now. 

John kept his quiet for nearly an hour before starting a story about a raid on a passing navy ship. This one was not actually based on real events but he’d been part of enough that it was easy to spin. A daring captain, a crew determined to fight to the last man. He was enjoying himself. It was nice, having someone that listened, he hadn’t been told to shut up since he left Flint. He might miss the challenge, but there was something to be said for this too. 

“And he drew his sword on me,” he said, “right there, in front of all his men, thought to challenge me for the ship-”

“Where did it come from?”

John stopped, his hand still outstretched to gesture to the imaginary crew. “What?”

“The sword,” Hamilton said, looking at him mildly, “I thought you’d disarmed them all when they were rounded up.”

John blinked. “This was a short sword.”

“It would have to be, to be hidden on his person when he didn’t even have his coat.”

Ah yes. John had taken the coat, hadn’t he? Was now meant to be wearing it in an elaborate set piece where he duelled the quartermaster to reach below deck. He looked closely at Hamilton. “How do you know?”

“I knew a navy man,” he said shortly. “It seems without over garments, it would be hard to hide any weapon. Was it in his boot?”

John realised suddenly, with a jolt, that he was being mocked. He was so surprised that he was laughing before he even realised. 

Hamilton looked almost as startled. But then he smiled. It transformed his face entirely. His eyes lit up in the fire, dancing, and he looked years younger. John could see that he might even be called handsome. Once he’d eaten more than a meal a day and lost the haunted look in his eyes. 

He leaned close to him. “I see you may have been paying more attention to the story than I was aware of.” I nudged him with his knee. “I shall have to keep a better eye on you.” 

They smiled at each other for a long moment. John was about to start the story again, or perhaps try another when Hamilton frowned at him. 

“Are you going to try to kiss me?” he asked, his tone free of inflection, like he was enquiring about the weather. 

John jerked away. Horror flooding over him in a great wave, leaving him almost breathless. He wasn’t. He hadn’t been… He _wouldn’t._ He was sure that he hadn’t been considering anything of the sort. The moment had been… nice, he supposed. He’d enjoyed the other man’s company but he would never...

Thomas just looked at him levelly, his tone maddeningly calm. “You wouldn’t be the first of my captors to think they could. A man charged with my crimes. A man who looks like me. You wouldn’t be the first who thought he could take something like that from me.” 

Nausea rose in his stomach suddenly, so sharp that he could taste bile. John barely had a moment to wonder about the “my crimes” part of the statement before he was answering. “No,” he managed. “I know I wouldn't be.” 

It wasn’t what he’d meant to say. There had been an insult formed on his tongue. He didn’t know why the words had changed as they left his mouth. His hands curled like he could snatch them back. 

Hamilton paused. There was a flicker in his eyes, a light of understanding like he’d suddenly understood something about John he hadn’t before. It left John feeling panicked and off-balance. He was usually better at concealing himself. 

“You’re safe,” he said, redundantly, after a moment when Hamilton just _looked_ at him. “Your appeal isn’t that strong, I can assure you. Not to me.” 

Hamilton nodded. Looked down at his hands. “My mistake.” 

****

They didn’t talk of it again. John wanted to pretend that it hadn’t happened and Hamilton seemed to feel the same. The conversation was stilted the next day, but he soon found his stride. 

And then Hamilton started to respond. 

Hardly at all at first, but first he asked a question, clarifying some geography, and then again about the nature of John’s acquaintance with one of the characters. John saw no harm in encouraging his behaviour. Better to have a partner that was functioning than one half-dead, after all. 

By the end of their first week together Hamilton was making comments almost without prompting. It was gratifying, in its own way. Made more so by the prospect that the sooner he returned to himself, the sooner they might make a viable plan to uncover his value. 

But with the increased conversation came the realisation that Hamilton sometimes disappeared. There seemed to be no pattern to when or why. But he was there, talking even (in his own halting fashion), and then he was simply gone. His eyes unfocused and hands trembling at his sides. John didn’t bring it up, he’d seen men like that before, that found their past horror suddenly surrounding them. It wasn’t his right to ask what Hamilton was seeing when he wasn’t there. So he didn’t bring it up. 

At least, not right away. But John was nothing if not a curious man by nature and Hamilton was a mystery to him. The question began to gnaw at him until he was compelled to ask. He waited until they were set for sleep one night, thinking it was most likely when he would get an answer. “Where they took you, before Savannah,” John started, “it was bad?” 

Hamilton swallowed, the light from their camp fire casting odd shadows over the hollows of his face. “Bedlam,” he said. “Yes.” 

Fuck. He’d heard stories, none of them good. “For how long?” 

“Don’t know,” Hamilton curled into himself. “Years.” 

_Fuck._ How was he still walking and talking at all? “That would have killed most men.” It wasn’t meant as a compliment, not really. Just a statement of fact. 

The other man was quiet for so long that John assumed he’d gone to sleep. But, just as John was starting to drift himself he spoke. 

“Sometimes I think it did,” he whispered into the dark. “That maybe I died in there and I’m not here at all.” 

“They didn’t treat you like a human,” John said, not a question. “Starts to feel like it after awhile. Then where you went after? Same thing, different method.” 

Hamilton looked at him, eyes wide and scared. He looked much younger than he did during the day, more vulnerable. “Sometimes,” he whispered. “I don’t think I’m real.” 

“You are,” he answered, and for a moment considered reaching out, touching him to show him that he was wrong. It was a stupid idea. He curled his hands into fists and nodded instead, holding his eye. “I see you. You’re real as me.”

There was a pause. Then Hamilton nodded, just once. 

“You can ask,” John said. “If you’re not sure. Just ask me.” 

“And if you’re not real either?” Hamilton asked after a moment of consideration but the quirk of his lips made John feel safe in his huff of laughter. 

“Well, in that case, you’re not alone at least and that will have to provide its own sort of comfort.” 

“Okay,” Hamilton said. “Thank you.” 

He sounded so sincere that John’s insides squirmed uncomfortably. 

***

“You should call me Thomas.” It might have been the first time he’d spoken to John without being addressed first. 

John eyed him. “Ah, yes,” he said with a nod. “Not one for formalities.”

“I’m not a Hamilton,” he said with a shrug. “I’m no one really anymore, but Thomas still feels… I would like to be called Thomas.” 

John thought he might understand that. He nodded. “Thomas.” He smiled. “Tom.” 

The look of reproach he received in response made him chuckle as they packed the horse.

The ride was still uncomfortable. Hamilton was much too tall to sit in front of him, John could hardly see where they were going, and his leg kept him slightly off-balance. Talking was all that kept his mind from how absurd they must look. There was nothing much to talk about, so he started with the countryside and then moved onto _other_ countrysides he’d seen. Probably not his most stimulating conversation, but he comforted himself that Thomas probably didn’t even notice. 

The conversation was mostly one-sided, but less so as the day wore one. But it wasn’t until they were fully camped out that Thomas asked his first question. 

“How did you discover what Flint had done?” he asked, looking at John intently, from across the low fire they’d lit. 

John looked away. Thomas hadn’t asked anything about Flint in several days. It had started to lull him into a false sense of security. 

“I ask because... before,” Thomas paused, clearly choosing his words carefully, “there was no anger. Sadness, perhaps, but not hatred.”

John continued to stare at the fire. 

“Ah,” Thomas said softly after a moment. The sound might have been a ‘gotcha!’ from other mouths. Perhaps it was, but John was too caught on the sudden light of understanding in Thomas’ eyes. Terror welled in the pit of his stomach. “It was you that did the betraying, not them.” 

The denial warred with the in-built reflex to offer no comment on his previous lives. Of course the inaction added up to a confirmation. He looked away, furious. His jaw ached and his nails bit into the palms of his hands. 

“Yes,” Thomas said softly after a moment. “I know something about that as well.”

John looked over at him, caught by surprise. That he hadn’t expected. Thomas had seemed so noble. The question was on the tip of his tongue but he held it back. He didn’t want to know. The less said between them the better. But he couldn’t help taking some small comfort in the understanding. 

****

The tension between them didn’t ease, exactly, but John found himself starting to loosen his constant vigilance as time went on. They seemed to have reached an understanding of sorts, were perhaps even building something that could be described as a partnership. 

The days fell into a routine, they talked in circles about ways they might find useful information given that between them they only seemed to have questions. John was reluctant to go to towns, it was too uncertain who was looking for Thomas and they would have all the element of surprise if they could identify him and not the other way around. Thomas seemed reluctant to voice his opinion but eventually pointed out that finding information, at least about ships that had docked at port, might yield something of use. He was right, but John remained unsure. So they skirted towns and camped out instead. 

As the night drew in, they would talk, or John would, for an hour before Thomas would retire and leave John staring into the flames. Once alone, he tried not to think about the past, but without a future to plan for his mind wandered back consistently. He thought of Madi. He missed her almost like he did his leg. The ache was similar and heavy. His thoughts shied entirely away from Flint. He was caught in a web of memories, half formed thoughts of ships and war when Thomas called his name, almost startling John into jumping. 

“What?” he looked up and found the other man had approached the fire and was now sitting near him, face serious. 

“The other night,” he said, voice earnest in a way that made John want to squirm away but there he faltered for a long moment. “The night I asked if you were going to-” 

“Yes,” John cut in, anxious suddenly to have been cut out of half-formed thoughts of Flint into _this_ conversation. 

“I was thinking,” he said, looking down and then apparently forcing his eyes back up, “what I said wasn’t right.” He looked pale in the firelight, worried, or perhaps horrified was more accurate. “When we were laughing, that was the first time I’d done it in so long. It had been so long since someone even _smiled_ at me, I think…” He shook his head. “It wasn’t _you_ that was going to kiss _me_.” 

John looked down. His skin was prickling, hot and uncomfortable. He wanted Thomas to stop speaking. He _needed_ him to be quiet, but saying anything would be to engage and he couldn’t. He didn’t want to be anywhere near this conversation. He stared at the ground, lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard?” He laughed, hollow and awful in a way that made John feel cold despite the fire. “Do you know,” he continued, his voice so forcibly light it sounded painful, “I think I’m lonely?” He laughed that strange humourless sound again. “So lonely that my captor showing me the merest hint of kindness made me feel…” He shook his head, face twisted with disgust. “I don’t suppose you can understand that, spending most of your time on a boat full of men. But…” 

He trailed off and when John dared a look Thomas seemed like he was far away. His eyes were unfocused, mouth slack. 

“I didn’t know,” he said, his voice now soft and hollow, “how it could be to be alone. How it becomes like a physical force. How it eats you from the inside. The beatings, the druggings, they were…” He swallowed and visibly shook himself. “They were bad. But, do you know how long it’s been since anyone touched me? Not for- just to _touch_ … Since I’ve been on the road, it’s been better, I’ve felt more myself but that’s just made me realise how long it’s been since I felt anything at all.” 

John felt like he’d been struck by lightning. Like his boots had melted into the ground, rooting him there. He could no more move, no more speak, than he could fly. 

“It’s been so long since I wanted…” Thomas looked up with a startled expression, like he hadn’t meant to say it, or perhaps like he hadn’t realised he _felt_ it. He closed his mouth firmly and took a breath, slow, to centre himself before he tired again, “I was scared and I turned it around to be you and…” 

“Why are you telling me this?” John snapped, needing to stop him. “There are men that would kill you for saying this.”

He smiled, or something like an approximation of it. “I don’t know. Because it was a weakness, I suppose. I know better than to give in and…” He shook his head. “I’m lonely and I wanted someone to know. Even if they could never understand.” 

John wasn’t going to say that he did understand. Nothing could have compelled him to. But he _did_ know what Thomas meant. He did know what it was like to have no one look at you, to have their eyes pass over you like you weren’t even there. To know that if you died it wouldn’t matter at all. Not to anyone. He _knew_ how sometimes he pushed against Flint when they sat together just to _feel,_ just so someone would know he was really there. He _knew_ and it made him want… 

He wasn’t sure. 

Made him want to punch Thomas, mostly. Perhaps to kiss him. But mostly punch him. To keep punching until he didn’t have to feel like someone might understand. Like they might _see_ the seething pit inside of him. How he’s grown so used to never having anything, he couldn’t even want anything anymore. He’d grown so used to ignoring its presence the sudden memory of it was painful. 

“Don’t do it again,” he said, his voice hard. He made no attempt to try and hide the anger he felt. “I’m not like you. Our partnership might keep you safe from- But don’t test me.” 

He wished he didn’t see the way Thomas curled back into himself. Or he wished it didn’t make something clench in his chest so painfully. 

“Yes. Of course.” 

They didn’t speak again until dawn. 

***

It was the leg that was his undoing. Of fucking course. The fucking thing had been trying to kill him since he lost it, like the dead reminants of it were calling out to him, pulling him down to rejoin it. Or perhaps that was just the fever talking. It had started to hurt to such a degree, by the time they were near the port, that he could think of nothing else. Sweat was gathering at his temple, trickling down his face to gather at his neck. They had reached the outskirts of town before he finally lost his battle with gravity and slowly slipped from the horse.

It took him a moment to be able to force his eyes open. It hurt, the light was far too bright. He blinked, trying in vain to focus and then perhaps move. 

“John,” Thomas’ face swam before him for a moment. “John, what is it?”

“Nothing,” he wheezed, trying and perhaps managing to raise his hand to wave off the concern. “Just the heat. Give me a moment.” 

When he opened his eyes again he was being moved. Manhandled might be a better description. It hurt and he wanted to protest but couldn’t muster the words. He slipped back down into the dark only to be aware of the odd snatches of light and sound, but nothing he could grip onto. By the time he was able to fully open his eyes, he was no longer outside. He was in a darkened room, on a bed, with the curtains closed. It felt cooler but still stifling. 

“John,” a voice at his side made him turn his head, it span for a moment and he had to blink slowly to clear it. 

Finally he managed to focus. “Thomas,” he said, his voice rough, unnatural sounding. “What- Where are we?” 

“I rented us a room,” Thomas said, his face pinched in worry. “You should have told me about your leg, I could have helped. I had no idea that the wound was still so new.” 

“It’s fine, I just hurt it again recently, over reached a little,” John said, evidence to the contrary firmly ignored. “I just needed a rest.” 

“It’s infected,” Thomas replied, voice firm. “You should have been tending to it.”

“I said,” John snapped, attempting and failing to sit up, “it’s fine.”

“You'll lose the rest of it.” Thomas’s voice was back to neutral. “If we don’t take care of it now, the rest of it will need to be cut away. Do you understand?” 

John wanted to argue, but couldn’t find the words. More of himself being cut away. The thought lingered like a physical blow. He couldn’t. He _wouldn’t_ have it. Not again. “You know what to do?”

Thomas shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve cleaned it with salt water. There is some medicine I can try to acquire.” John gave him a steady look. “They let me tend to the other men on the…” He straightened his spine, gathering himself, like acknowledging the past caused him physical pain. John tried not to grimace in understanding. “When I was on the plantation, I would tend to some of the men when it was needed. The owner let me read some books on the matter. I’m not a doctor, but I know useful things we can try.”

John held his gaze, trying to assess the implications of accepting. He didn’t want to be in this man’s debt. He was working too hard for it to be the other way around. But then, he undoubtedly needed the help. Perhaps this would cement Thomas’ feelings of friendship for him. That would be something useful at least. He nodded, though the action was harder than he anticipated, some part of himself holding back until the last moment. 

Thomas nodded in return and went back to where he’d been leaning over John’s unbound leg. He was looking at it without any apparent distaste, at least. Perhaps he’d seen worse before. “The peg,” he said, nodding to the corner where it was resting, “it rubs?” 

John forced another nod. 

“Well, you should avoid using it until this is fully healed. Perhaps we can have one made for you. That’s too long, it’s part of why it’s rubbing.” 

Thomas noticed more than John had given him credit for. He filed the information away, angry at himself. He knew better than to underestimate someone like that. He knew Thomas must have been educated, was clearly attentive and interested. He would have to be careful not to give more away. 

“I’m going to see if I can find some ointment,” he said, looking up at John and fixing him with a firm stare. “Stay here and rest. Sleep if you can. I’ll bring you something to eat.” 

“Dinner in bed,” John said, trying to cover his discomfort at their reversal in roles, “what luxury.”

Thomas smiled, small, pleased. “Don’t get used to it. We have business here and I would have you able to attend to it as soon as possible.” 

John watched the other man leave before closing his eyes against the pain. Whatever Thomas had done to his leg while he was unconscious had it throbbing terribly. He didn’t want to see it and wasn’t sure he had the energy to move anyway. He tried to relax and even out his breathing, but it was hard. His whole mind seemed determined to focus on nothing but the pain. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, feeling the pain pulse sickly with the beat of his heart.

He was too hot but the effort to move to try and do anything about it was too much and eventually he fell into a fitful doze. 

Time passed in strange fits and starts. 

Thomas appeared to force him to drink a broth and some water. 

Later he woke to him unwrapping his bandages. He watched him through slitted eyes as he frowned down at the leg. 

“How did you lose it?” he asked, apparently aware that John was awake, although how he wasn’t sure.

John closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing. “Why does it matter?” 

Thomas shrugged. “The cut looks clean, at least.” 

He wasn’t looking at him, his entire focus on his leg. John wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. There was movement and then Thomas was smoothing something over the wound that made him cry out, despite trying to stifle it. Thomas didn’t react, just finishing the motion with small, efficient movements. 

“The infection isn’t too bad,” he said as he wrapped the leg again. “You should sleep.” 

It didn’t feel like he was going to get a choice in the matter; his mind was swimming, his eyes not quite able to open so he could focus on anything. 

He dreamt of being at sea. He dreamt of losing his leg, only this time the crew didn’t save him. This time they crew threw him overboard and he was drowning. He tried to kick but his leg was too heavy and his lungs burned with effort. He could see a figure just above the surface. A hand reaching down for him but he couldn’t reach for it no matter how hard he struggled, desperate now, but making no progress. 

“John!”

He gasped awake to find a hand pressing down on his chest. He gasped again, bringing in lungfuls of air. There was no water. No ship. No crew. There was, however, Thomas at his side. 

He turned to stare at him. “Are you _sharing my sick bed?_ ” 

Thomas frowned, perhaps confused at the question or change in tone. Then he blushed, something that John had never seen him do before. “There’s one bed and I’ve been sleeping on floors for months. It’s not like you’ve cared for the last two days.” 

“Two days?” John tried to blink the last of sleep from his eyes, but found it clung to him, the dread of his nightmare refusing to leave. 

“You had a fever,” Thomas said. He rolled out of the bed to hurry to the other side of the room where there was a jug. He poured water, bringing it back to John. “It appears to have broken.” He watched John closely as he drank.

“My leg hurts less,” he said. 

He nodded. “The infection looks to be clearing. You should be able to be up and about soon. I found a crutch for you, the peg will only hurt you until you’re healed.” 

John gritted his teeth and tried not to show how the idea of it stung. “It's been two days?”

Thomas nodded. 

“And you’re still here, not half way to Port Royal.” 

This was met with a roll of eyes. “You didn’t have the money for passage.” He half-smiled. “I also suppose you watched me through a fever and I wanted to repay the good deed.” 

God save John from good men. “Probably not your wisest decision.”

“I’ve made worse.” Thomas watched him steadily. “Was it Flint that took your leg?” 

John startled. “No,” he said, surprised, both at the question and his own desire to correct the mistake. 

“You called out in your sleep. His name was the only thing I really understood.” 

_Fuck_. “He was there,” he said shortly. “Well, he was there when I was recovering. I think that’s what I was dreaming of.” 

Thomas nodded. “Can you sleep again? It would do you good.” 

“Not if you're sharing the bed.” A joke. Mostly. 

Thomas looked at him, just for a moment, but it was enough to be assessing. “I saved your life and that entitles me to half the bed.”

“You hardly saved my life.” 

“Leg then,” he amended. “Either way, enough for space that you’re not using.” 

John wanted to protest, but really, there was nothing he could rightly say to that. Nothing that might not beg the question of why it mattered and he didn’t _want_ it to matter. Easier and safer to give in. And change the subject. “You were reading?”

“Oh,” Thomas said, “the Innkeeper said I could borrow it while we were here.” 

“Making friends and begging favours?” John asked, genuinely impressed despite the mocking tone he used. 

Thomas sat, only slightly hesitantly, on the bed next to him. “I was told that I used to be quite charming.” 

John thought it wise not to comment on that. “What is it?” 

Thomas held up the cover. 

John snorted. “Jack the Giant Killer?” 

“Have you read it?” Thomas asked. 

“No,” John said. “Not a lot of time for reading when you’re-” He gestured vaguely because, come to think of it, there was plenty of time had he had the inclination. 

“Go to sleep,” Thomas said, but then opened the book and began reading aloud from it. 

John would have protested, but it was… nice. It made the fact that Thomas was sharing the bed less strange and the words took some of his attention away from his leg. He closed his eyes. 

****

He was up and around two days later to find that they were out of money. He scowled but couldn’t find it in him to be truly mad. There had been precious little left before he’d been rendered useless for days and if that was the cost of his still having most of his leg, he would take it. 

“I suppose we could find some employment,” Thomas said, looking utterly unsure of how that might work. 

“You ever had a job before?” 

“Well,” he said, “I mean-”

John waved his hand, cutting him off. “No, me neither. Besides, place like this, we’d never be able to earn enough to have any time for planning.” 

“So what do you suggest?” 

Thomas, surely, knew just what John was suggesting. Perhaps he was just being delicate, but why John had no good idea. “I suggest we steal some.” 

“Right,” Thomas said. “How?” 

“Don’t worry yourself about that,” John said, gathering his things and pulling himself to stand. “This is what you might call my area of expertise and the last thing we need is you getting arrested or, more likely, murdered in the street.” 

“You’re suggesting that I stay in the room and wait for you like some sort of kept woman?”  
Horror flooded John as he felt his cheeks start to heat. The bed situation was perhaps getting to him, coupled with Thomas’ twice needing to talk of them kissing. It was messing with his head. “No,” John said. “I’m saying you should stay in the room like someone who needs to stay hidden because there might be people looking for him.” 

“Teach me,” Thomas said, ignoring him completely and getting to his feet. 

“Teach you?” 

“Yes,” he said, nodding firmly. “I am a quick study and with two of us it’ll be easier, no? Besides, couldn’t I play the part of luring in your marks? That’s how it works, isn’t it?” 

“How it-?” John shook his head. “No, absolutely not. It takes years to learn something like this and we don’t have the luxury of bailing to the next town if it all goes wrong.” 

Thomas held John’s eye just long enough for him to feel like he might have won. Then he opened his mouth and ruined the illusion. “Then I suggest you teach me efficiently.”

“I absolutely will not,” he said. 

Thomas stared at him. 

Five hours later they rounded a corner at a run. John could hear Thomas panting for breath behind him, feet beating a steady rhythm on the soft ground. John was a little off-kilter, his crutch swaying wildly under him and he had to skid to a somewhat undignified halt, his free hand out to catch himself on the wall. 

“Losing a leg seems to have its drawbacks for a speedy or stealthy exit,” he said, drawing great lungfuls of air.

Thomas had managed to halt his forward momentum with more dignity. “Still,” he said, attempting to catch his own breath, “you’re surprisingly nimble.” 

“Did you get it?” he asked, looking expectantly up at Thomas. 

The other man’s face split into a wide grin, totally unlike any that John had seen him wear before. He looked years younger and his eyes were alight, bright blue and dancing. He held up the bag, taken from an unsuspecting man as he departed a ship. Pick-pocketing wasn’t exactly going to make them rich, but starting small seemed to be the sensible thing to do.

“Right,” Thomas said, placing the bag in his pocket. “Now what?” 

John shook his head. “Terrible how easily the upper classes can be brought to a life of crime.”

“Please,” Thomas said. “This is child’s play compared to what I saw some of my classmates do. The rich steal more than any man of a lower class. We just also happen to make the laws.” 

John stared at him. “I think I’m starting to understand why you might have had some enemies back home.” 

Thomas smiled brilliantly at him. “Oh, my dear John, you have no idea.” 

The great miseducation of Thomas Hamilton began in earnest the very next day. True to his word, Thomas took to it like a duck to water. He was indeed a quick study and learned some neat sleights of hand with ease. But it wasn’t that which John found fascinating to watch, because most men could pick up petty thievery easily enough, with the right instruction. No, it was Thomas’ sway over people that John found to be the biggest surprise. For all that Thomas remained quiet, almost withdrawn, when they were alone, with an audience (or mark) to play to, he came alive. And people _believed_ him. They seemed to take one look at Thomas’ handsome (for now his face was animated again there was no denying the fact), solemn face and decide to follow him wherever he decided to take them. 

John, as if he needed further evidence, began to see why he might have been removed from London. He must have been incredibly lucky, or more likely, well protected, to still be alive. It made him all the more curious to know what had landed Thomas in Bedlam and then a plantation on the other side of the world. Thomas had resisted all attempts to pry the information out of him, insisting that it couldn’t be of import because everyone involved was either dead or believed _him_ dead. 

That wasn’t the reason for Thomas’ reticence, of course. There was some shame there, he was sure. Something he didn’t want John to know. Given his comment about his captors thinking they might get their end away with him, John had to assume that his crimes were not entirely political. Or, rather, not the official ones. It was possible that was the root of his not wanting to share further. But, somehow, John didn’t think so. Thomas seemed to make no move to hide the fact that his head was not turned by women. If it bothered him, it was only in the knowledge that it bothered others and that that might cause problems. So. It was something else and judging from what John knew of the other man, he had his suspicions. Thomas Hamilton had somehow dragged down people he loved with him. He was flaying himself alive with the knowledge almost daily. John could see how haunted he was, he’d seen a look just like it. Had spent a great deal of time with it, in fact, and had been running from it for nearly a month. 

_Love_. He shook his head at the thought. The ruiner of all great men. 

Still, he needed confirmation and the chance to get more information from him. With that thought, and a pocket full of their day’s proceeds, he ambled over to where Thomas was standing in front of a shop. He was staring, almost lovingly, down at the display of books. John pressed down on a smile. 

“You miss reading?” he asked when he was at Thomas’ side. 

Thomas shrugged, eyes still on the books. “It was my primary vocation for some years.” 

John nudged him with his shoulder, hoping to jolt the melancholy from his expression. “That would be why you’re now totally unsuitable for employment outside of crime.” 

“And you’ve cultivated many employable skills?” 

“Not much schooling to be had at the orphanage.” 

“Poor orphan John,” Thomas said, turning to smile at him. “If only you’d had a better station to start life, think of what you might have achieved.” 

“Alright,” he said. “I think I preferred you when you barely spoke.” 

Thomas ducked his head, perhaps in an apology. 

“But,” John said, “nevertheless, the day we’ve had deserves a celebration, don’t you think?” 

“A celebration?” Thomas asked, clearly surprised. 

“Yes,” John said, swaying a little into his space, “you do remember the concept?” 

“I’m not sure,” Thomas said slowly. “Perhaps you ought to lead the way.” 

***

John was drunk. His plan to get them enough rum to sink a ship was a great success, but somewhere along the way he’d consumed a great deal more of it than he’d meant to. Still, Thomas was _more_ drunk. That was the point. He’s face was flushed, his eyes glassy. John couldn’t help smiling at him. It seemed an age since he’d been able to do this with someone with something as simple a just mysterious past between them. 

“How are you getting along, my lord?” he asked, leaning across the table to catch Thomas’ eye. 

He received a slightly perplexed smile in return. “I am no lord,” he said. “Not anymore.” 

_Not any more._ John filed that away. “Well,” he said, gesturing with the bottle before taking a swig. “That’s a matter of opinion. They can take the title, but they can’t take the…” He ran out of words and was reduced to gesturing vaguely at Thomas. 

“Grace and poise?” Thomas said and then laughed so hard he almost fell right out of his chair. 

“I was going to say gravitas,” John said, helping Thomas to right himself in his chair. “They can’t take that away from you.” 

Thomas smiled a little lopsidedly. “Perhaps.” 

“No,” John pressed, making sure to slur his words as much as would seem acceptable, “whatever happened to you. They didn’t take that. You’re still you. A lord. Everyone can see it.” 

“You ever been to prison, John?” he asked suddenly, turning eyes that didn’t quite manage to focus on John. 

“An overnight jail a few times,” he said, easy. This was better. He blinked slow then added, “Nothing that I wasn’t able to talk my way out of after a few hours.” 

“I thought that,” Thomas said, face unreadable. “At first. I thought, surely, I can find the right combination of words to secure my release. There had never been a problem that I wasn’t able to argue away. Surely, someone, my father, Peter. The judge. Someone would see _sense_. I don’t think I realised it wouldn’t happen for nearly a year.” 

“Having hope wasn’t a bad thing.” John waved the bottle at him, taking care not to seem too invested in the story, but open to hearing more. “That’s all you have sometimes. It’s kept me alive when nothing else could have done it.” 

Thomas nodded. “Hope was good.” He looked away, staring at the dirty table before dipping his finger in some unidentifiable liquid and smearing it over the wood. “By the time I realised that I was alone, that no one was going to come for me, that I’d more than likely been entirely forgotten…” He shook his head. “Have you ever believed in something so much that you stopped seeing reason?” 

John snorted, this shouldn’t be about him. Still, it was important to show that he understood, at least a little. “No. That’s Flint. Worse thing about him. I’ve seen what that does to the people around you.” 

Another nod, this one sadder. John felt a little thrill of triumph at it. “Yes. Death and destruction. It leaves you in ruins. But there was-” He cut himself off and took a long drink. “It was a _good_ idea. It _could_ have worked. I know it could have. They wouldn’t have been so _afraid_ of it otherwise. They wouldn’t have utterly… destroyed me. My wife, _James,_ they… They paid such a price. And for what? A fanciful dream of other people’s happiness.” 

So, that was the truth of it. Thomas had been tortured for a decade and his wife and lover had been killed. He expected a little more pleasure at the revelation, at being proven right. But he didn’t. Instead he felt oddly hollow as he watched the bob of Thomas’ throat as he drank from the bottle, at the way he ran a hand over wet lips when he was done. This man, he’d survived terrible things. He was still walking, making jokes, still _himself_. It would be almost inspiring if John didn’t also think him a fool. Were it John he would have shed his name and the memory of the whole ordeal day one. He would have moulded himself into whatever he needed to be to escape that place. 

“I did it to save lives,” Thomas continued and John blinked, trying to focus on what he was being told. “I continued, though I thought I understood the risks, to save lives. I’m sure that’s why I...” He looked down, eyes searching, although not for anything on the dirty floor at his feet, John was certain. “I was so sure. It was to save _so_ many lives. To secure my family’s reputation.” He lifted his head, eyes flashing dangerously for a moment in the lamplight. “To save the very soul of an empire.” He let out a laugh. A small, bitter thing. “Only. I didn’t. I did it so that for once, just once, my father might not look at me like I was something he’d drug in on the bottom of his shoe.” 

He looked at John, eyes steady and jaw set stubbornly. Ready to accept the judgement. Then he shook his head, a smile twisting his mouth unpleasantly. 

“I didn’t… it wasn’t even as though everyone looked at me like that. Enough, I suppose. But not all. I had friends. I had devotion. I had-” He didn’t say _love_ , but the word hung heavy and solid in the broken off silence. John watched as he wrestled himself for a moment until he was able to speak, chin tilted definitely up. “I destroyed everything and I’m no longer even sure why. That’s the worst if it. I was selfish and impetuous, all the while telling myself I was so fucking _noble_.” 

The silence stretched long between them. John licked his lips and sighed. “It can be both,” he said slowly, unsure why he was trying to offer any thoughts of his own. They were never welcome. “You can want both. It doesn’t make either untrue.” 

Thomas stared at him, eyes wide with surprise and suddenly very blue. Had they always looked like that? John didn’t remember it if so. He couldn’t look away for a moment too long. 

“It’s not like it matters anyway,” John said, pulling his eyes away. “You fucked it up, people you loved paid for it and now you have to live with it.” 

Thomas nodded, looking for a moment so pained that John wanted… He didn’t know. Wasn’t sure, other than he _wanted_ and for a moment the feeling was so strong that he almost reached out a hand. He kept it balled under the table instead. Perhaps that was enough rum for one evening. 

***

That was the beginning of the shift. John should have known it would come. Ever since Flint, some part of him that he hadn’t even known was there seemed to have unfurled and now he couldn’t control it. It had only ever happened with Flint, but perhaps whatever it was had infected John and now he was _noticing_ where before he hadn’t. 

Thomas wasn’t even pretty was the thing. He _wasn’t_. Not to someone who had spent any sort of time around Billy bloody Bones with his shirt off, hauling cargo. But once John had noticed his eyes, how blue they were, he couldn’t _stop_ noticing. Nor the delicate slant of his mouth. He couldn’t _not_ notice the strength in his arms from long days toiling on the plantation. He couldn’t help noticing that he was _admiring_ those things, admiring ridiculous things like the way he read so confidently. Or the way he took to crime like he’d been born to do it. How he flourished under John’s tutelage in a way that caught something in John’s chest on fire. 

It wasn’t like John wasn’t used to noticing. He noticed plenty Flint’s strong jaw and stronger thighs. He had managed to grow _used_ to noticing and it not mattering. He _was_. This wasn’t different just because even if he _did_ decide to lose his goddamn _mind_ and do something about it, it might not be hopeless. It _wasn't._ He could notice and it didn’t _mean anything._ He was sure of that. He would never, _could_ never act. He’d fled Madi to avoid acting on anything that might compromise him. He wasn’t about to do anything that stupid again. 

So instead, John threw himself into their mission. Once they had a tidy sum of money, enough to last a few weeks, John set about crafting a timeline with Thomas of his journey. Now that the confession was out of the way, Thomas opened up a little more about his past. Still no real detail but the odd piece here and there. John asked him question after question, mostly focusing on his time after Savannah, anything he could piece together about where he’d been taken and when. Anything about the ship. It wasn’t much. But it was a starting point. It meant he could start to make discreet enquiries. He asked about the port, first finding the right people and then the right levers to pull with them. It was slow work and sometimes John doubted that it would come to anything at all. 

Thomas didn’t seem to mind it so much. Perhaps he was just so relieved to be free that he didn’t feel any real pressure. Or perhaps he just had faith that they would prevail. Faith in them. The thought was pleasantly gratifying. Thomas was coming back to himself more and more now he had some sense of purpose. Not that there weren’t still lapses. Sometimes he seemed to forget himself, simply drifting away mid-conversation. John was never sure if something had set him off - a memory sparked by a random word or phrase that dragged him away. He suspected that it was related to being over-stimulated or stressed although he wasn’t sure. But it happened other times too seemingly at random. John mostly left him to himself, not wanting to force him back or make him feel self-conscious. Other times, when there was need, he would talk him back, nudge at his knee, gently call his name. 

Thomas always looked terrified when he returned to himself that way. John would hold his eye, confirm where he was, that John was with him and that he was okay. Sometimes, if it was especially bad, Thomas would ask him if they were really there. Those times usually signalled that Thomas would be good for nothing for the rest of the say. John would send - or more often take - Thomas to their room where he would be quiet and withdrawn until he crawled into bed and slept. John tried not to worry about it. He’d seen men suffer worse and they got less frequent as time wore on and John better used to dealing with it. 

“What do you want, John?” Thomas asked, as they made their way back to the room, breaking into John’s musing.

“What?” John turned, completely unprepared for the question, and for a heart-stopping moment he wasn’t sure _what Thomas meant_. He blinked owlishly at him. 

“When all this is done,” he said, frowning at John’s possibly terrified expression. “What are you aiming for?” 

“Ah,” John said, letting out a sign of relief and _not_ disappointment. “You mean when I’m rich beyond all reason?” 

Thomas’ mouth turned up in what was now a familiar expression. “Yes, after that.” 

John shrugged. “Nothing.” 

“Nothing?” Thomas asked, genuine surprise in his voice. 

“Why is everyone always so surprised by that?” John asked. “Must there be a grand plan? Is a life not enough?” 

“No,” Thomas said, as he opened their door. “It’s not that. You’re just so…” He paused. “I don’t know, you’re so _you_. I somehow can’t imagine that you’d ever not be planning. Do you truly mean that you’d just settle down and do nothing?” 

Irritation flared in his chest. “I want to be left alone,” he said, voice now tight and agitated. “I want to be _free_ from all of this.” He gestured around. “I don’t want to be back here again because I felt the need to _prove_ anything.” 

Thomas was frowning. “But, don’t you think a man like you could-”

“What?” John snapped, surprised at his own vehemence. “ _Make a difference?”_

“Well, yes.” Thomas seemed utterly confused at the turn in the conversation, and truth be told, so was John. He couldn’t be sure why he was suddenly so _angry_. He didn’t like the way Thomas seemed to think John’s desires so low, but the level of his anger seemed disproportionate even to him. Not that the thought helped calm him at all. 

“Oh,” he said, tone now mocking, “and I suppose _you_ have some grand plan, then? Not learnt your lesson the first time and so you’re going back for more?” 

Thomas’ face flushed, perhaps with anger or embarrassment, it was hard to tell and John didn’t care to find out. “I have to find some way to make it-”

But John cut him off, the words bursting out of him like a damn. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have let himself end up here again, with another partner that just wanted to direct them right into ruin for a _cause_? How could he have let himself get tangled again with someone that was going to size him up, no matter how much he did, how often he saved them both, and _still_ find him wanting? It made his chest tight and face hot with fury. 

“You’re so fucking pathetic,” he spat, “you know that?” He was so furious his hands were fists at his side. Thomas took a step back and John felt a little thrill of victory. “You could just drop it! Just let it - _him_ \- go. Let whoever you were when you did all of that _go_ .” He shook his head in contempt. “But you’re too fucking righteous, aren’t you? Like it makes you strong to carry it. Like it makes you better than the rest of us because you carry around all your mistakes like a millstone. Like we’re meant to think that’s _good._ That it’s _good_ it’s getting people killed. That’s it’s going to get _you_ killed. Well, it isn’t. You can choose to forget them. That’s the strong thing to do.” 

In the silence that rang loudly around them John realised that he’d made a terrible mistake. Thomas knew as well as he did that they were no longer just talking about themselves. He glared, daring him to say something about it. 

In the end, after so long that John was almost starting to feel uncomfortable, Thomas sighed. “That would depend on if there’s anything left worth remembering.” Thomas shook his head, a little self-deprecating smile John was coming to know well, was pulling at the corner of his lips. “Years ago I might have said that remembering was the only way to become a better man. That it was the only way to learn: to keep your mistakes close and let them guide you. But,” his lips twisted, turning bitter, “it’s not that. I don’t _want_ to forget. I don’t _want_ to let them go. I _won’t_.” 

“It’ll _kill_ you. It already killed them, is that not _enough already?_ ” 

Thomas caught and held his eye, his own face now a mask of fury. “There are worse things.” John huffed out a furious breath but Thomas took a step towards him, eyes focused. “There _are,_ John, and I think you know that. You’re just a coward who won’t dare admit it.” 

Afterwards he wasn’t sure if he or Thomas were more surprised by the punch. He blinked down at where Thomas was now sprawled on the ground. “I’ve killed men for less than that.” 

“Yes,” he said, quietly, his hand coming up to touch his jaw. “I’m sure you have.” 

John had the absolutely awful realisation that he wanted to apologise. He glared instead, balled his hands. “You don’t get to talk to me like that. We’re not friends,” he spat. “You understand that? We’re not _friends_ . We’re partners. For a _short time_ and that’s all. You keep your opinions to yourself.” 

Thomas pulled himself up, keeping his distance. “I understand,” he said, voice low and not challenging but still firm, “that I touched on something I should not have and that now you want to burn all of this down.” He swallowed. “But I won’t let you.”

“What are you talking about?” John’s heart had started to beat erratically in his chest. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

“I know you’re scared,” he said. “I understand that, John, I doubt there’s anyone alive that understands it better. But you don’t have to push me away. You can’t. Not yet. We _are_ partners.” 

John didn’t look at him. _Couldn’t_ look at him. 

“I’m going to sleep,” Thomas said. “I’m sorry that I offended you. I didn’t mean to make light of…” He sighed. “Wanting to be free of this constant fight? I understand it. I respect it, even. I just don’t think it’s that simple. You don’t get to walk away, not if a fight’s not finished. It’ll just follow you.” He smiled. “I’m proof enough of that. Death and a one-way trip to Savannah wasn’t enough to end it.” 

“Goodnight Thomas,” he ground out. He had much he could have said to that, he could have pointed out that currently it was _Thomas_ that was refusing to let it end. But there was no point and John was so tired and he just wanted the conversation to be over. 

“Goodnight John.” 

It wasn’t the end of it, of course not. Thomas didn’t seem capable of letting a single thing go. He waited, though, until they were walking through the harbour, weaving in and out workers and pedestrians. 

“It doesn’t suit you, you know,” Thomas said, his tone mild and hand going to the bruise that was blooming along his jaw. “The ‘fear my wrath’ ploy. Not your strongest.” 

John glanced at him. “Meaning?”

“It’s like an ill fitting suit. One that might have belonged to your father. Or perhaps a much-admired brother. You’ve made attempts to alter it to your own body, but it doesn’t quite fit and you know it. People _know_ you know it. Or they will. After a time.” 

John set his jaw. It was true. But he hadn’t had the time to settle into this new version of himself yet. There was always a period of adjustment. He’d had plenty of good teachers on how to rule with violence. Besides, if you were dead there wasn’t any more time to consider if he was what he was saying he was. 

“There are other ways to wield power, you know.” There was a beat of silence where John glared and then Thomas turned to watch a passing fisherman, carrying his catch to the town. “Just a thought.”

***

John tried not to let the argument play on his mind, but he found himself returning to it over and over when his mind wasn’t otherwise occupied. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to having tempestuous relationships, he was. For all that he was hard not to like, he appeared harder to like for long periods of time. So, he’d rather liked that he and Thomas’ partnership hadn’t been punctuated with disagreements. They had, from the start, found an easy comrade but now they seemed to have suddenly arrived at the limits of it. The sensible thing to do, of course, was to now carefully avoid those boundaries. 

Sadly, this was not how John went about conducting his personal affairs. It was like an itch he couldn’t stop seeming to scratch at. He just couldn’t seem to stop pushing at the limits of Thomas' apparent world-view. And sadly, Thomas seemed similarly afflicted. 

“How do you do it?” John might ask, after about a third of a bottle of rum. 

“Do what?” Thomas might reply as he drank slower than John, perhaps not having enjoyed his first hangover in a decade after their first celebratory session. 

“Be so,” John would gesture furious, sloshing rum on his hand and down his sleeve, “be so… Be so _you_?”

Thomas would just raise his eyebrows and thus avoid the need to voice a question at all. 

“After a decade of abuse and being told you’re not even a human,” a sad shake of his head would show his disbelieving sorrow at the state of affairs he’d found, “you come out of that and you still… You still think it was worth it. You still go around like what you were before wasn’t wrong.” 

His words would have been taken badly by most men, John knew, as soon as they were out of his mouth. But Thomas just smiled or at most flushed an angry red. “It’s not the first time society insisted that about me. I’ve long chosen to ignore it.” A shake of his head, as though dismissing his own words. “But anyway, I still don’t believe that I was wrong. I was naive, I was blind to the political realities that my father was dealing with, I was selfish and rash.” He sometimes seemed to find himself on a roll when it came to the topic of his dealings in London and John would almost be at the point of stepping in when Thomas himself noticed and stopped. “But I can have been those things and still not be _wrong_.”

“You really think it’s literally everyone else and not you.”

A laugh of genuine pleasure. “You have power over your mind - not outside events. Realise this, and you will find strength.” 

“Pretty words, a trifle obvious, but well enough said.” 

“Obvious?” 

“You cannot control all events, but you can console yourself that you were right really, if only they’d all listened? Sounds like the words of a loser.” 

“I think you miss the point.”

“I do?”

“No one has the power to destroy you if you are hardy of mind.”

“Unless you’re dead.” 

And on and on it went. They argued for hours. Neither of them willing to back down and neither quite able to let the other claim any sort of victory. John might have found it frustrating - and often he did - but seeing Thomas so passionate had its own sort of pleasure that almost, although not quite, made up for it. John almost looked forward to the next argument and he knew Thomas did the same. 

“To love,” Thomas said, tilting his cup. “Lost and perhaps not yet found.” 

“Fuck off,” John huffed. “No. Pick another toast.” 

Thomas raised his eyebrows at him. “I believe it was _my_ toast,” he said. “That means I choose its subject.” 

“Not if it’s fucking shit,” John said, voice more heated than was probably entirely warranted. But it was just so… frustrating. How could this man, who had been so broken, so utterly destroyed by love, still be clinging to its memory like a raft in a storm? Thomas seemed, in every other way, to be an entirely rational person. It didn’t make sense. 

“I think love as a subject is more than adequate,” he said, colour rising high on his cheeks. 

“It’s fucking stupid,” John repeated. 

“I think the great poets and philosophers might disagree,” he said, trying to sound reasonable even though it was obvious he was just as annoyed as John. 

“Well,” John said, “have you considered that maybe they’re just… wrong? That maybe love is the greatest conspiracy of them all? The thing designed to keep us docile? To keep us toiling endlessly in the hopes of being worthy of it, when, in reality, it’s not worth the bother at all?” 

“What are you talking about?” Thomas asked, now apparently totally confused. “Love gives _meaning_. It gives _purpose_.” 

“It’s awful,” John spat, aware that his control of his own emotions were starting to slip. Curse this stubborn fool. “A curse. It consumes you until there’s nothing left.” 

Thomas looked at him for a long moment, his lips not quite pursed but not quite smiling either. It was maddening. John might have punched him in his pretty, smug face again if he’d been capable of releasing his death grip on the bottle of rum. “You are coming at it from the wrong angle, Mr Silver.” 

John glared, and shook his head, if Thomas thought reverting back to formalities was going to make John take him more seriously, he was sorely mistaken. He should change the subject, probably shouldn’t have spoken at all, but apparently his participation in the conversation was no longer required anyway. 

“It is a choice,” Thomas said. “The greatest freedom there is; the choice to love someone. To _keep_ loving them, everyday. You may not be able to help the feelings. But it is you alone that decides what to do with them. You can cast them aside,” he held John’s startled expression for a long moment. “It will hurt, but you’ll recover. You’ll live. Or,” he paused and then he did smile, a private smile that might not have even been meant for John, “or you can choose to stay. To love. To grip on and pour what meagre resources you have at your disposal into it.” 

John wasn’t sure his glare was quite so harsh anymore. His throat seemed suddenly full, like he wouldn’t be able to swallow past the rocks now sitting in his chest even if his mouth weren’t so dry.

“Then you choose to die,” he said, unable to look away. 

He shuddered, as though speaking it might suddenly summon it forth. The worst fate. The thing, the only thing, he’d managed to avoid his whole miserable existence. How could Thomas seem so casual about it? So determined to see it as good?

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Yes. But it doesn’t always stick, I’ve found.”

***

Of course John was always going to push it too far. He never knew when was appropriate to just _stop_. It was what put him on top of situations that rightly should have sunk him. But it didn’t classically mix well with sharing a life with someone. 

“Do you think your James thought that?” he slurred. 

They were in their room and perhaps it was the intimacy of it that gave John the idea of what might finally prove his point. They hadn’t bothered to find anywhere bigger, they were saving money and it just seemed more trouble than it was worth. 

Thomas went very still where he’d been closing the door. 

“Or your wife?” John shouldn’t have smiled, but he could feel victory looming. 

“Don’t,” he said, voice low, not angry but perhaps afraid. 

That was blood in the water and John was never good at not following its trail. “No,” John said, “it’s a fair question. Your actions have consequences and so surely the feelings of those involved matter just as much.” 

He turned to face Thomas, and the look on his face made John’s heart hammer in his chest. He didn’t really know why he was saying the words still coming out of his mouth, why he was so determined to pull this down around himself. It was like a compulsion. Thomas had made it clear that he wanted to stay and so John, in some way, knew that meant he had to make him leave. Had to make it happen as soon as possible, because surely that was easier than waiting for it the whole time. 

“So?” he asked, mouth curling into a sneer. “Did James think it worth it, when you pulled him into your world, filled his head with you pretty, but let’s be honest, empty words and then got him murdered while trying to escape with your wife?” 

The punch might have been expected from anyone else, but Thomas had shown not a single sign of being interested in violence since the moment they met. 

“You won’t talk of him again,” Thomas said when John found himself blinking up at him from the floor. 

John was immediately struggling up, but it was hard without his leg and he’d dropped the crutch as he fell. John, suddenly much more sober than he’d been moments before, went for the gun at his side. But Thomas didn’t seem to be going in for another attack, but he was glaring down at John with such fury that it was almost frightening. 

“James was-” Thomas cut off. “You won’t speak of him again. I won’t have some common thief thinking they understand a _single thing_ about him. And if you mention my wife in such a way again, I’ll find a way to kill you. Don’t presume just because I’ve sunk low enough to find myself _consorting_ with someone like you that means you’re worthy of speaking, of _thinking_ , of them.”

“Ah,” John huffed as he got to his feet, “there it is.” He smiled, cruel and somehow pleased despite the pit opening in his chest. “Your true self at last. Better than me. Better than all of this. Better than-”

Thomas shook his head, cutting him off. “I don’t want to know,” he said, voice firm. “I don’t care what conclusion, what victory, you think you’ve won, John. I know you meant to hurt me, to prove some great theory, but I don’t care to know it. I’m not a player in whatever story you’re weaving about the world and your own life. I am a person, someone who lost the person that I genuinely believe I was made to love and it was my own fault. You are free to draw whatever conclusions you have about that. I simply don’t want to know them.”

John waited, expecting Thomas to leave or at least make an ultimatum. “And if I don’t agree to your terms?” 

Thomas sighed, a sad, small sound. “Then you don’t and the last of this partnership will be entirely unpleasant for the both of us.” 

With that Thomas turned and began to get ready for bed. John watched his back as he did. His hand went to his cheek which was starting to throb a little. Perhaps now they would have matching bruises to show for their disagreements. The thought was oddly comforting. It felt fitting somehow that there was some physical evidence of the pain they’d both managed to inflict. 

Neither of them spoke as they got into the bed and dark settled over the room. John lay staring at the darkness for a long time. His heart felt heavy in a way it hadn’t since the days just after he’d left Flint and Madi. It hurt and he hated it. He wasn’t used to caring about the pain he’d inflicted with his words. He sighed and rolled over, now facing Thomas who he could just see through the light from the widow. He was lying stiffly and clearly also awake. John swallowed heavily and rolled away. 

It was like he could feel the wound he’d managed to open in the other man. There was no healing it, the damage was done and Thomas would always know that John was the type of man who would inflict that sort of pain for no other reason than it suited him. He sighed again and closed his eyes. His hand, where it lay at his side, twitched. He screwed his eyes shut and then moved it, slowly, carefully, into the space between him and Thomas. It landed oddly, catching some unidentifiable part of Thomas’ arm. John let out another slow breath, uncurled his fingers and gripped Thomas’ arm. It felt like it might have been his forearm, perhaps just above his wrist. It was warm and solid and Thomas didn’t throw him off. 

Slowly, inch by inch, John found his body relaxing down into the bed. He didn’t let go of Thomas and the other man didn’t move to dislodge him. He fell asleep much faster than he would have expected. 

*****

There was an unspoken truce. John had truly found the limits of what Thomas would permit and some part of him seemed satisfied with that, knowing that he had a way he could get out, if he truly needed to be rid of the other man once and for all. 

What was left between them was a sharper focus on the task at hand. Less fun, certainly, but that was probably for the best. They had managed to narrow down the potential boats that were transporting Thomas. Although there were worrying reports of the men returning to their ships and a strange sense that things were pressing in on them started to creep over John. While that might lead to an opening in solving the mystery, it was starting to feel like they might also be running out of time. 

“What’s the commotion?” John asked a couple of mornings later, arriving later than was his custom to the dock. Thomas was standing, looking out to sea with a frown, as all about him people were hurrying to and fro with a sort of nervous energy that John hadn’t seen before. 

Thomas turned to look at him, his expression impassive. “Apparently Flint is near-by.” 

John froze, horror trickling down his spine. “He means to come here?’ 

“I’m not acquainted with his schedule.” 

“What does the gossip say?” he snapped. “Aren’t you down here gathering it?”

“What are you so worried about?” Thomas said, squinting a little in the sun. “It’s not as though anyone here knows who you are. Or me come to that. Even if Flint does come here what havoc can he really wreak?”

“You don’t know him,” John said. “He’s not just… he’s not like other men.” 

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “So it would seem to get you so worked up.”

“I’m not worked up,” John lied evenly. “I’m worried for my life. And you should be worried for your own. If your captors didn’t want Flint finding you, it’s entirely possible it’s because he’d want you dead.” 

Thomas shrugged. “I cannot see why.” 

“Again,” John said, “you don’t know him. If he’s set his sights on you. Or me. Then…” He shook his head. “Perhaps we should leave.” 

“We’re running?” Thomas sounded so surprised that it made John pause mid-step away the way he’d come. 

“It’s called staying alive.” 

“But we’ve got contacts here,” Thomas said, not unreasonably, “if we go it will take time and resources to build them again.”

“Again,” John said, this time through gritted teeth, “that won’t matter if we’re both dead.” 

“What did you do, that you’re so sure he wants you dead?” Thomas stepped closer. “You seemed- Some of your stories made it seem that you were friends and yet you’re so sure that he wouldn’t have any regard for you still? Perhaps if we went to him and-”

“Absolutely not!” John snapped, horror poring over him like icy water. “I cannot see- You will be in too much danger with him. You do not know him and I do. You _must_ trust me on this.” 

Thomas stood for a moment, clearly unsure, but John saw the moment that he gave in. Something tight and anxious in John’s chest relaxed a little. Thomas was choosing him. For now. “Okay,” he said. “I will follow your lead, it hasn’t steered us wrong yet.” 

John nodded and turned on his heel, only to nearly collide with another man. He looked up to apologise and realised that he knew him. “Oh _fuck_.” 

The other man’s eyes widened when he saw John and then his eyes flicked over his shoulder to Thomas just behind him. He opened his mouth to shout and John clocked him, hard as he could, over the head with his crutch. 

“And now we run,” he said, calmly as he could to Thomas. 

They ran. But behind them there was a chorus of shouts and John knew it might all be lost. He looked around wildly and ducked between a row of houses, Thomas fast on his trail. He paused, gasping for breath and trying desperately to decide on the best escape route. Could they hide out until nightfall? Perhaps board a ship and find another port? Going in land didn’t seem viable as they would be easy to track on such a small island now their pursuers knew for certain they were still there. 

“It seems they are here just ahead of Flint.” Thomas was pressed close to John, and when he looked up at him he was peering around the corner to see if they’d been spotted. “We should keep going.” 

John nodded and started to lead the way, although where the way led he wasn’t sure. 

“It is strange that they are so bound up with Flint,” he said. “I had thought that perhaps it was a coincidence. That they were simply from England and knew that Captain Flint was no friend of the Empire. But now…” He stopped, turning to look at Thomas for a moment. “Something’s been bothering me,” he said. 

Thomas looked at him. “Just the one thing?” 

John stifled his sigh. “About Flint and you.” He was met with just a raise of eyebrows so he continued. “Doesn’t it strike you as strange?”

“What?” Thomas asked, starting to look a little impatient for John to get on with it. 

“That Flint happened to kill both your father and friend? What are the chances of that?” 

“I’m led to believe the tropics are a dangerous place,” Thomas said slowly. 

“But even still, the same pirate killing the only two people that apparently knew you were alive? That’s one hell of a coincidence.” 

“You think Flint somehow has a vendetta against me?” Thomas asked. He didn’t look as terrified by the thought as most men might. 

John shrugged. “If he did, he never mentioned it to me. But the guards seemed determined to ensure that you not run into him. Seems like you’re connected.” 

“But how could that be? What cause would anyone have to hurt-” Thomas cut himself off. “Flint,” he said, voice suddenly low, dangerous. “What does he look like?” 

John frowned, suddenly furious that he hadn’t thought to check this immediately when the connection between the two men came up. “Tall,” he started, “red hair, green eyes. Covered in freckles. Crazy eyed.” 

Thomas had gone very, very still. “And his female companion?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I never met her. Pretty by all accounts. Dark haired, I think.” 

“James,” Thomas whispered, face paler than John had ever seen it. 

“Yes,” he agreed, the realisation settling like a stone in his stomach. “James Flint.”

Thomas’ eyes were wild when they met John’s. “He’s alive.” 

John could only stare at him, unable to form words. It _couldn’t_ be. What were the chances? 

Thomas staggered slightly, reaching out to the wall for support. “ _My_ James, I-” He shook his head, as though trying to shake it clear of a fog. “It’s him.” 

“Wait,” John said, holding out a hand as though to stop him from suddenly bolting. “Do you really think that _Flint_ is the navy man you had an affair with in London? The one who got you sent to Bedlam and declared dead?” But even as he said the words it clicked into place. The desperate rage he saw in Flint sometimes, the way he held himself. He was _clearly_ navy. He’d _clearly_ lost someone. His hatred of the English empire. His drive for revenge. It was so _obvious_ he couldn’t believe that he’d never seen it before. The realisation made him sway in place, dizzy with emotions he had no idea how to place. “He loved you.” 

Thomas’ eyes were shining. “We have to get to him,” he said. “I have to-” He stopped. “Miranda,” he whispered. “Peter killed her?” 

John blinked, trying to focus his scattered thoughts. “I-” he started, suddenly at a loss. “I think- Vane wasn’t forthcoming with the details, and Flint was hardly in a condition to-” He cut himself off. 

Thomas sank to his knees, breath coming faster. 

“Thomas,” he said, trying not to sound as panicked as he suddenly felt, “Thomas, you need to focus now. We need to keep moving, those men are still coming for us. If you want to see James again, you need to get up now and we need to keep going.” 

It took a long moment, John wondered if he was going to have to physically pull the other man up. But eventually Thomas took a long breath, closed his eyes, and when he opened them he looked almost calm. 

“Take me to him,” he said. 

“Flint?” 

“Take me to him,” he said again. “You were looking for someone that would pay you for me. James has some money, yes? Take me to him.” 

John shook his head. “Thomas, I can’t, I _told_ you. If I go back there, Flint will as likely kill me than give me a reward.”

“I don’t care!” Thomas shouted, making John flinch at the thought of them being overheard. “I will personally guarantee your safety, but you must take me to him. If he finds that you have kept me from him, what do you suppose he would do?” 

“You’re putting a lot of faith in someone you haven’t seen in nearly a decade,” John said, unwilling to move. Everything had come crashing to its end so abruptly that he hadn’t had the chance to prepare. He felt off-balance, confused and panicked. “He’s much changed from what you’ve told me of your James. How do you know that he will even care for you in the same-?” The look on Thomas’ face stopped his words dead. It wasn’t fury, that might have been less effective. It was a look of dawning horror that held John’s tongue. It had been a lie, anyway. John was as sure of Flint’s love as he was of the sky being blue, albeit the knowledge was less than a couple of minutes’ old. “Okay,” he said, swallowing down his own panic. “Okay, we will find a way to get you to him. But, that’s problem number two.” 

Thomas’ breath was ragged but his focus was absolute. He nodded. 

John mirrored the motion, slow, somehow terrified he’d spook the other man into something rash. “Problem one is getting out of here alive. We need to find transport.” 

“There’s stables at the inn,” Thomas said. 

“Stealing horses in the middle of the day isn’t ideal,” John pointed out. Thomas gave him a look that John didn’t need to decipher. “I will find a way out of this, I swear.” He paused, mind racing. “We need a disguise.” He sighed and looked about before ducking down another row of houses and coming back moments later with two of the rattiest blankets he’d ever seen. 

“Vagabonds,” Thomas mused, throwing it over his own head. “We should make our way down the beach. Join the others. It will be easier to blend in. Perhaps we can hide until dark. That would make the horses easier to acquire. Unless there’s a way to get on a ship and to James sooner?” 

John held his breath. “Staying here is better. Listen,” he cut in to forestall the immediate disagreement building on Thomas’ face, “there’s a chance we can get word to him. But either way, being in one place will make the odds of us bumping into him better. If both of us are sailing around at random, that won’t help.” 

Thomas’ jaw flexed angrily but he didn’t comment, instead turning and striding down to the beach. He seemed to remember himself after a few steps and his gait took on a different rhythm, he stooped and walked slower. John would have been proud were he not so terrified. He took a breath that totally failed to calm him and followed, not needing to change _his_ walk much at all. 

They huddled amongst the other unfortunates until the light began to fade. John tried not to look around and he daren’t speak. Whenever he shot a look at Thomas it seemed like the other man was about to vibrate right out of his skin with desire to do something. He was lucky that it was him and not Flint. They’d already have taken over a boat, the island perhaps, with an untold death toll if their positions were switched. As it was, Thomas seemed to be turning the news inwards into some sort of terrible battle. Less risky for others, but not actually all that pleasant to watch. 

“Come on,” John whispered when the stars were mostly out. 

They couldn’t go back to their own inn, the chances were too high that their pursuers would have found where they were staying. But there would be plenty of horses for the taking around the town. 

They crept down the beach before looping around the outskirts of the town. John kept the pace as fast as would seem natural were anyone to see them. But he was aware of the frustration building in Thomas with nearly every step. He couldn’t believe the other man hadn’t already asked him the, no doubt, million questions he’d been contemplating on the beach. John wished he could have come up with some plan for how he planned to answer them. 

But there was still time. They just needed to put some distance between themselves and the town. Once they were safe - for a value of safe - they could plan. Perhaps there was some way John could convince Thomas to delay, just a little, if they could just have have a little more time together- 

John’s mind was working so hard that he almost missed the turning he was looking for. He grimaced at himself and turned more quickly than he’d expected, twisting his knee slightly. He held in the curse and walked to the small stable and let out a small sigh of relief that there was indeed a small pony left there. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do. 

He gestured for Thomas to follow him and they ducked inside as one. They were so close, John could almost picture their get-away. Slipping out into the night. Once on the run it would be easier. There would be a million reasons that finding Flint would be hard, if not impossible. They just had to get away. 

Of course it didn’t work out that way. Nothing ever worked out like John expected it to. No sooner were they in the stable, then they heard voices. There was no doubt that their get away was over before it had barely begun, because John knew both his own luck and the voice of one of the men he’d drugged the night he met Thomas. 

He crept to the door and peered out, Thomas was at his side, his hand suddenly gripping John’s arm. It reminded him, suddenly and unhelpfully, of the night Thomas had punched him and his heart squeezed in his chest. 

“Fuck,” John breathed, pushing back against him to keep Thomas from getting near the shaft of light coming into the stable. There were at least ten men outside. “We’ll have to fight our way out,” he said and clutched the gun at his belt. His heart rate was ticking up, cold tendrils of fear running up his spine. He hated it. Surely Flint should have driven his desire to flee at the first sign of trouble right out of him. Not that there was any chance of that. They’d make too much noise, be too slow. 

Thomas shook his head. “I have no weapons and virtually no combat experience and you,” he paused and looked John up and down deliberately, “have just the one gun _and_ leg.” 

Clenching his jaw, John hissed back, “Then what do you suggest?” 

“I suggest,” he said calmly, surely more calmly than he actually felt, “that you go and fetch James.” 

And then he was stepping slowly out into the stable, hands raised. He took John’s broken-off hiss of “No!” with him. He was left panting, heart racing, alone behind the door. He breathed. Once. Twice. Three times. He could hear the men startle and call out when they saw Thomas. There was another shout followed by the soft thud of something hard hitting flesh and a muffled huff of pain.

And then he ran.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully it’ll be clear on what’s changed in terms of canon since Silver left, but in case you’re wondering/want it laid out, see the notes at end.
> 
> Hope you enjoy - comments are so appreciated and loved.

_T Hamilton is alive._

There was more to the message, but after the first line the world had dropped away and James had been unable to fully comprehend the meaning of it. Had the note come from anyone else he might have burnt it. Might have tracked down whoever dared to send it and killed them slow. But this was Silver - the writing unmistakable - and somehow he knew that it was true. Or that Silver at least believed it to be so. How he even knew to send James the message, he couldn’t be sure. There was no living connection that he knew of between Thomas and Flint. But, if anyone were to find it out, to try and exploit it in some way, it was fitting that it was Silver. 

So, James knew Silver wasn’t lying. The man was a rat, a deceitful, duplicitous rat and yet above all, he was a survivor. He would never send this note without being certain. He must know what it would mean to tell this lie. It would be his death, even if it took James a lifetime to enact it. 

He forced himself to read, to truly take in the rest of the message. It was short and to the point. Just the line about Thomas, the coordinates he could be found at and a request that John be picked up from close by. He was apparently ready to provide them with a distraction so they would be able to take Thomas from where he was being held, ready for transport to a destination unknown. The coordinates were to a location just several miles up the coast. 

He was minded to go alone. He dared not tell anyone where he was going or why. But, this was not something he could fail at. There was a buzzing in his head and he could feel his heart beating sluggishly against his ribs. Wild, terrifying hope was building in his chest and he couldn’t quash it. He couldn’t convince himself that it was all a lie. That it was a trap and he was going, and taking his best men, to their probable death. It was a madness, but that was true of the last ten, long years. Now it felt like he was madly kicking his way to the surface after drowning for years, and his lungs burnt with the hope that _any moment_ he might finally be able to breathe again. 

He took five men, including Billy, which had been met with the usual protests that he was only there to guard the ship and not be his lackey. James ignored him. This was too important not to take the best of the crew. If this was a trap he needed someone that might stand a chance of recognising it and calling it off and he couldn’t trust himself to do it. That he was so compromised by the mere thought of Thomas told him that he ought to be more careful. But he couldn’t. So he brought them together and told them that it was orders from Silver - a simple trip to collect someone that was important. Billy eyed him suspiciously; of all the men, he alone seemed sure that the story James had told, after Silver abandoned them, that he was simply away on some errands on his behalf was a lie. There was no way to prove it, of course, and so he fell into line now as he had at the start by coming back to _The Walrus_ to act as Quartermaster to keep the men in line. 

The march inland felt terribly, awfully slow. Like he was wading through surf. Billy asked questions that went unanswered while the others seemed to know better than to speak at all. They reached the coordinates to find the remains of a camp and nothing more. He’d been prepared for that. They would need to track them. Hard, but not impossible over this ground, and he’d chosen his men carefully for this exact purpose. 

It took too long. Far, far too long. The thought that Silver might have failed in his ploy to delay and distract them from transporting Thomas kept looping around and around in his head. If he had lost him- He cut the thought off, trying to concentrate on ensuring his men stayed on task. 

Eventually, what felt like weeks but was probably only an hour later, the lead scout returned and they were moving again. Eventually they came to the outskirts of a clearing. James didn’t remember arriving there. His mind was far away while his body carried him forward, as it always did. 

He peered through the trees, assessing quickly, planning. It was almost automatic now. Ten men. Perhaps two more hidden out of sight. There was a figure just out of the ring of fire, clearly bound, possibly unconscious. It was impossible to tell who it was. But, really, there was only one person it could be. His heart began to pound a terrible rhythm in his chest again. 

_Dead. He’s dead. Oh god. Not again. He’s dead._

James flicked his head to the side, indicating that Billy should loop around the other side of the clearing. He watched him disappear quietly for a moment, before turning his attention back to the men. Eleven. More than a solitary prisoner warranted, but perhaps they’d been warned others might be looking for him. Or perhaps it was just another story that had gotten out of hand. The man was valuable. Only a certain number of people needed to know it before the reason or type of value stopped seeming to matter. He cut his thoughts off. Those questions could wait. He needed to deal with the immediate problem of the men surrounding the clearing in front of him. 

A moment later and Billy was in position and James was crashing through the trees. Things seemed to slow the closer he got toward the figure on the other side of the fire. Men rose up in front of him, whirling toward him and died almost as quickly. He barely noticed it. One, perhaps two, managed to get off a wild shot before they fell lifeless to the floor. James was usually controlled during battle, his mind blessedly clear and quiet for once. This wasn’t like that. Rage bubbled in his chest, dark and howling. 

When the last man fell to his knees with a grunt, James stopped, breath ragged. He pulled the man toward him with one hand, face twisted into a snarl. The man looked back at him, blood already pouring from his nose. The wound on James’ arm throbbed as did his right knee where someone had landed a lucky blow. But it didn’t matter. He barely felt any of it. 

“Wait,” Billy called, suddenly at his side, “we should question him; none of this makes any sense.” 

James hands twitched, the fury in his chest screaming for death, for violence. For revenge. He paused, holding himself tight while the rationality of Billy’s words warred with his desire to kill everything and everyone that had _dared_ to think they would be able to keep him from Thomas. 

“Flint,” Billy said, voice sharp. “He might know what’s going on here and who’s giving the orders.” 

That finally broke through and James snarled once, bringing the heel of his sword down sharply on the head of the man at his feet. He slumped forward, unconscious. And still the darkness in James’ chest roared. He spun around, seeking something that he might be able to direct it toward. But, then his eyes fell on Billy, who was moving toward the man on the other side of the clearing. 

James was there in a few short strides, horror cleared all other thoughts from his head. No one was to touch Thomas - if it was really him - but him, he couldn’t bear the thought of it. “Don’t,” he choked out and Billy paused, turning to look at him. “I’ve got him. Go and check that no one else is coming back.” 

Billy gave his now customary pause, as though wanting to demonstrate he was only choosing to follow this order because it made sense. Then he was gone and James was alone. He stopped, his breathing hitching strangely in his chest. He needed to look down, to see who it was lying at his feet, but he couldn't. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he found that it wasn't Thomas. Wasn't sure what he'd do if it _was._ But he had to move; there was likely still danger lurking in the trees. He gathered himself, gathering more courage than he'd ever needed to take another ship by force.

He looked down and his knees gave way under him.

He thudded to the floor of soft grass, his knee giving a distant throb of protest. It was Thomas. Some part of him had known it from the moment he was within ten foot of him. His hair, the slope of his shoulders. It was clearly _him_. But there could be no mistaking it now. He paused for a sickening second, searching for the rise and fall of his chest before he saw it. 

_Alive. He’s alive. He’s here. He’s alive._

His hands were shaking as he pulled Thomas from the ground. He thought for a horrifying moment that he might drop him entirely, but then his hands seemed to remember themselves and he gripped the other man tightly. He pulled him roughly to the side of his body, feeling his solid weight against his side, warm and _alive as_ he staggered to his feet. His stomach clenched and his heart thundered in his chest. Thomas stumbled, barely conscious but almost able to hold his own weight. James’ fingers were aching from how hard he clung to the fabric of his shirt as he held him upright, half dragging, half carrying him as they made their way out of the clearing. 

He didn’t remember the walk back to the shoreline. He stumbled, he thought, but no one made any move to help him with his load. Perhaps they knew it would be met with nothing but violence. Somehow, with the world and time moving strangely around him, he was back on _The Walrus_. Then he was in his quarters and Thomas was on his bunk. None of it seemed quite real. Although he'd never dreamed anything like this. But he was no longer entirely sure that he could trust his own mind. 

So he watched him, the rise and fall of his chest for a long moment, trying to discern some way to prove that he was really there. He’d never even let himself imagine this. Not since they’d heard of Thomas’ death. So this could not be some fantasy come to life. It was more than he’d ever hoped and he had no way to understand what he was seeing. 

He stared, trying to take in every detail, until his eyes landed on Thomas’ wrists. He surged forward to tug at the ropes that bound him, trying to stifle his horror at having left them on for the entire journey. He fumbled, unable to loosen the knots and reached for his knife, but paused at the shake in his hands. He didn’t want to risk cutting him in his haste. He tried to take a steadying breath, only for it to catch in his chest. He tried again. Then again. He swallowed and reached for the ropes. The knife was sharp and the ropes soon fell away and he threw them to the floor, and stared, mind horrifically blank at the bloody marks left in their wake. There were scars, under the fresh wounds. Clear signs of a long captivity. That alone proved that he was not imagining this. Not even his nightmares would have thought to include such a cruel detail. 

The years between when he had last seen Thomas and now stretched bloody and terrible before him. His eyes continued to roam over the other man, cataloguing him. They caught on Thomas’ face, slack with unconsciousness. He looked young, like the years that had so ravaged his own body had barely touched him. But for the beard, it might have been a night in London. One of the precious few where James had allowed himself to linger while Thomas slept, to watch him. 

He wasn’t sure how long he stared, unable to move or think, until someone spoke at his side making him jolt. 

“I need to look at him, Captain,” the surgeon said, the words barely penetrating the thick fog of his brain. Why was he even there? Then he realised with a sudden jolt that Thomas hadn’t moved when the ropes were removed. Hadn’t actually stirred the entire journey back. James’ stomach clenched in terror. 

The surgeon looked at him hesitantly for a moment before speaking again, “Captain.” 

When James still couldn’t speak, he reached a hand passed him towards Thomas. James' blade was at the man’s throat in a moment. He blinked, trying to focus on the now terrified eyes of the surgeon as they slowly came into focus.

“Flint,” Billy barked from behind him, voice sharp. “He’s trying to help, for fuck’s sake. Let him look at him.”

James tried unsuccessfully to make his limbs move, to unblock the path from the surgeon and Thomas. He took a breath, gripped his sword tightly and inched to the side. The other man watched the blade move from his throat and then stepped forward. He cast another quick look at James before focusing on the unconscious man in front of him.

James watched him, arm aching from the tense way he was holding his sword, but unwilling to relax should suddenly action be needed. The man opened one of Thomas’ eyes and James felt his knees threaten to give out. It had been _years_ since he’d seen the colour of them. He realised with a sick feeling that he’d been picturing them wrong. They were lighter than he remembered. A sob tried to work its way up his throat and he stifled it. Although perhaps he wasn’t entirely successful, given the look Billy threw him. 

“I think he’s been drugged,” the man peering at Thomas said. “Seems fine otherwise.” He very deliberately stepped back. “Watch him, see that he drinks water, but there’s no wounds I can see.” 

“He’ll wake?” Billy asked, perhaps sensing that James wouldn’t be able to formulate any words himself. 

“Aye,” the other man, already making his bid for safety. “Nothing more I can do, either way,” he added, before leaving and closing the door firmly behind him. 

“Flint,” Billy began, voice urgent. 

“Get out,” he said, his jaw so tight it felt like it might crack. 

“I need to-”

“Get out!” he roared, starting towards Billy a pace. 

The other man held his ground, eyes steady and not afraid. It might have annoyed James any other time, but his mind was too full, his emotions too tangled, to spare any for Billy Bones. There was a moment where he wondered if Billy was going to force him to remove him from the room, but in the end he nodded. “I’ll get us underway,” he said, “and then we’ll talk.” 

The door was barely closed before James stumbled back to his bunk. He reached out a trembling hand and let out a moan as it connected with Thomas’ face. He had a beard, shot through with grey. He was darker skinned, liked he spent a lot of time outdoors, than James had ever seen him. Another sign that this was real. He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. 

****

Thomas blinked awake and knew at once he was at sea. Had they managed to get him onto a boat before John got to James? The thought made his heart clench and he stared at the ceiling for a long moment, taking stock. It was then he realised that someone was clasping his hand. It was large, callused and most definitely not a woman’s. He turned his head, feeling only slightly sick at the motion. 

“James,” he breathed, feeling a smile pull at his lips, relief washing over him like a great wave. It left him breathless, weightless. “You’re here.” 

James startled awake in a moment, eyes wild for a moment of clear panic before they focused on him. They stared at one another for a long time. Thomas wanted to move, to pull James to him, but felt trapped by the strange look on the other man’s face. He hadn’t spent, hadn’t allowed himself to spend, much time considering what it would be like when they were finally together. It had seemed too cruel to let himself imagine it. But, if he had, he would likely never have expected the expression on James’ face. It wasn’t happy, not exactly, and Thomas’ heart seized in his chest. 

“You’re awake,” James said, voice strained and quiet.

“I think so,” he said, “unless you are a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time they drugged me and I dreamt if you. Although,” he tried to smile through the rising dread in his chest, “you had rather more hair on your head and less on your face in those.” 

A strange play of emotions flickered across James’ face. He looked pained. “Miranda-” he began, and looked away. 

“I know,” he said, feeling the way his eyes filled tears, burning them and making his chest tight with it, “James, I know. I’m sorry.” 

“You’re..?” James pushed away from the bunk, chair scraping an awful noise of protest as it gave under James’ body. “I should get you something to eat,” he said, looking away. “You’ve been unwell.” 

“I’m perfectly fine,” Thomas said, unable to keep the note of resentment from his voice. This reception wouldn't have featured in even his most miserable of daydreams. “The last time I found myself in this position, I was in a forest with a man I hardly knew and sadly mostly conscious for the drugs leaving my system.”

James shook his head, as though hardly hearing him. “I must attend to the crew,” his voice was stiff, nothing like he remembered it. Deeper, like now he had to drag up the words from some painful place to speak. Gone was the articulate, teasing man Thomas had known in London. “I’ll send food.” 

The door was closed before he’d even managed to formulate a response. He stared at it, dread filling him. He’d wondered, feared, that he might be too late. That James would have forgotten him. Or worse, that he blamed him for what had happened in London. It was what he deserved after all. But he’d hoped… He shook his head. John had tried to warn him of this; he should have been better prepared. 

Or perhaps it was just overwhelming. James had hardly asked for the ghost of his dead lover to appear from the grave. He hadn’t asked for Thomas, half-mad and a shell of what he had once been, to be rudely deposited into his life again. He’d clearly felt enough duty to come and get him once he’d had word from John. Perhaps that would be enough. Perhaps he just needed time to adjust. Thomas could wait. It could hardly be worse than the years preceding this moment. James was here, _alive_ , and it didn’t really matter about anything else. 

The lie was a comfort at least, as he lay back in the bed and closed his eyes. 

***

James was hiding. He hadn’t meant to, at least not at first. There were things that he needed to attend to. He'd had a mind to question the man they’d brought back but had been unceremoniously informed that he’d died on route. A gun shot wound that James had missed entirely while they fought. He’d been so furious at the news that he’d had to pace the ship for nearly an hour before his heart rate had returned to normal. He so desperately wanted answers. The questions crowded so thickly in his head that he could scarcely breathe for them. There was so much he must have missed. He should have gone to Bedlam. Should have questioned Peter Ashe more thoroughly. He should never have left London without Thomas at all. They could have been reunited years ago. Miranda could- He cut the thought off viciously. 

He needed to keep working; he couldn’t afford to let anything else slip. It was more important than ever that the crew see him. Without Silver, his hold over them was tenuous, and he hated how much it relied on Billy, who didn’t want to even be aboard. There were also messages from Nassau, from Vane and Jack both, that needed his attention. The situation on the island was a stalemate, but by no means a settled one. There was so much that needed his careful attention that he could almost believe the lie that he needed to stay away from Thomas while he was recovering. 

They needed to get to Silver. He'd sent another note while James had been gone, confirming that he'd managed to set a distraction to waylay any support that the men holding Thomas might call on until James was able to get to him. He’d set light to the ship that was bound to carry Thomas to his final destination, and was now apparently lying low waiting for a rescue. It was a simple matter of sailing around the island to retrieve him. But James had paused, not wanting to move until he was certain of Thomas’ safety and health, in case they needed to change direction. 

Silver wasn’t stupid, he’d made sure that James wasn’t the only one that knew he was in need of assistance, and the men were restless to get to him. But, there was not a soul alive that could stop James getting any help that Thomas might need. And he was in no hurry to see Silver again. The thought weighed heavy on him. Would have weighed much worse if he could think of a single thing other than the man recovering in his quarters. But every thought seemed to go right back to Thomas. 

The future now stretched out taught and unknown before him. The forward motion that had been driving him for a decade seemed to have grounded all at once. There had been nothing more important than making England pay for so long and then suddenly there was Thomas. 

Who would now see what James had become. What he’d done in his name. The thought sat like a stone in his stomach. How could he look at him, a man who had only wanted peace, and explain all that had happened? All the death. All the destruction. How could he explain Miranda to him? He would lose him again and he wasn’t sure what he would do then. 

He needed to think, to form some strategy, but his mind circled those same few points over and over.

He wasn't sure what Thomas would do, once he knew what James had been doing, what he was now planning to do. He wasn’t ready to face what Thomas was going to say to any of it. If there was any hope that he still felt something for James, who had left him to God knew what torment for the last decade, who had never even attempted to find what had truly happened to him, then he surely wouldn’t once he was able to see what James had become without him. 

He was a coward. He’d never thought himself that before. 

Thomas was alive and awake and somehow James hadn't gone to him. He instead paced and attended to matters that had previously seemed beneath his concern. Even though there was nothing more important than the man he’d been unable to not think of for hours. Years. He ached to go to him. But he didn’t know how. Where would he start? Apologising for killing Thomas’ wife? For leaving him to torture and misery for nearly a decade? For the monster he’d made himself? And what good would any of that do, anyway? So Thomas could politely tell him that he’d be leaving at the next port? He wasn’t sure what the words would do to him and to fall apart now would be a catastrophe. He needed… he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t think. Thomas’ presence like a siren call he couldn’t ignore nor heed lest it lead to his death. 

There came a time, however, when there was simply nothing left to distract him. So he gathered himself and forced himself back to his quarters. There was a strange moment where he found himself wanting to knock at his own door. Like it Thomas’ rooms back in London and James’ presence might be an unwelcome distraction from more important matters. Perhaps that was still true. Nevertheless, it was still his ship and he wound’t knock on his own fucking door. 

He found Thomas sitting at the window when he at last forced himself inside. The sight was so jarring that James pulled up short. That was Silver’s favoured spot and the contrast between them gave rise to a set of complicated emotions he didn't want to dwell on. 

Then he saw Thomas’ face and his heart stuttered. He looked different, older, now he was awake. But he was still the most strikingly beautiful thing James has ever seen. Something in his chest broke loose, leaving him breathless. 

He tried to formulate words, but found he had none to offer. Thomas looked almost as startled as he did. He got to his feet, took three long strides towards him. James’ heart leaped and he found himself taking an involuntary step back. He tried to turn the motion into closing the door, but the damage was done. Thomas’ face fell and he stopped walking. Stopped moving entirely. 

“You’re awake,” James managed, his voice hitching strangely like he hadn’t used it in years. 

“I-” Thomas started, faltering and grinding to a halt on whatever he was about to say. James wasn’t sure he’d ever seen him at a loss for words before. He took a breath, as though trying to gather himself. “James, I-”

All at once, terror rose in James and he realised he didn't want to know what Thomas was going to say. He didn't want the reality of Thomas telling him that he wanted to leave to form in front of him. “You’ve been given food?” 

Thomas’ face scrunched in frustration at the interruption. The expression was so familiar that James had to stifle a sob. “Yes,” he said. “They were very kind, although I don’t remember much of the morning. I fear my previous hosts were a little overzealous on the drugs this time.” 

_Rage_. That was a better emotion. James allowed himself a moment to bask in it, curled his hands into fists at his side. He would rain down vengeance on every person that had played a part in this. He would find whoever it was that had hurt Thomas and he would-

“James,” Thomas said, his voice firm, like it wasn’t the first time he’d spoken. James jerked his head to face him. They were close, much closer than they had been just a second ago. He jerked back, just half a step, needing space. Needing distance if he was going to think. Thomas was so close it was like he could feel the heat coming from him. He was so solid. So real. 

And James wouldn’t survive him telling him that he didn't want to stay. 

Thomas’ face flicked again, emotions playing over it too quickly for James to read. “I was about to ask, before you indulged your curiosity into the state of my hunger, if you were planning to touch me at some point?” Thomas’ voice was bland, like he was commenting on the weather, but he was too still and his expression too easy for it not to be clear how much emotion he was not showing. “I only ask because the waiting to find out is…” He paused, pursing his lips. “Well, I suppose the waiting might never end and it would be better to just know, I think, rather than be kept in perpetual suspense.” 

“I’ve touched you,” he said, voice hard, the denial reflexive. It was also true, even if he knew well that it wasn’t what Thomas meant. His head spun with confusion. Of all the things he’d expected to be confronted with when he finally came to his quarters, this was the last of it. 

“You flinch away the moment I come within five feet of you,” Thomas answered, eyes hard and challenging. It shouldn’t have surprised James to be called on it so bluntly, though it did. Thomas never did suffer double speak. It was one of the things James had so admired in him when they first met; it was so rare to meet someone of his class who said what he meant and meant exactly what he said. It had been like finding fresh water after weeks at sea. “Stop whatever this is, James, and _talk_ to me.” 

It was the challenge in his voice that had him taking a step closer to him. “Talk of _what_?” he asked, hating the slight edge of pleading in his voice. He stood tall, shoulders back, trying to show them both that he was unafraid. It felt both stiflingly close and like there was an ocean between them. James’ hand twitched at his side, useless, despite his desperate desire to reach out. 

Thomas shook his head, perhaps noting the distance still between them. He looked pained and the sight clenched painfully at James’ chest. “I understand that it has been years, James. I understand that I am not what I was…” He paused, gathering himself in the face of James’ stunned silence. “I understand that you have likely moved on from- But I would have you tell me-”

“Moved on?” James cut in, his voice hollow with shock. 

“I am not blind,” Thomas snapped. “Half mad, perhaps, but not blind. Not to my own lack of worth to offer, nor to how much you still have. I never expected you to… I do not deserve for you to…” James realised with a sick sort of horror that Thomas’ eyes were beginning to shine. But in the face of the ongoing silence he gathered himself, pulling himself up to his full height and for a moment it could almost have been back in London, safe in James’ rooms. “I do believe, however, that the regard you used to hold for me might confer some lingering sense of duty to at least _tell_ me how I am to behave around you now.” 

“What are you talking about?” James managed to stutter out. His heart was beating strangely in his chest. His vision seemed to blur, his mind unable to catch on a single coherent thought. 

Thomas reeled back as though he’d been struck. “I see,” he said, after a moment, and a mask of coolness settled over his face. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice colder and more aloof than James had ever heard it. Worse than when Thomas had been forced to speak with his father’s friends on the steps of Parliament. “I don’t know what came over me. I shall take my leave.” He nodded stiffly. “Have a good evening, captain.” 

His hand found Thomas’ wrist before the other man had quite managed to turn fully away. “What are you _talking_ about?” The words sounded like they’d been dragged over glass and Thomas startled in his grip but didn’t pull away. “Do you have _any idea_ how long I’ve wanted- How long I’ve not dared let myself _imagine_ that you would return to me? That I might get the chance to touch- to fucking _see_ you again?” His hand was too tight on Thomas’ wrist, he was probably leaving a bruise but neither of them moved. “I’ve been waging a _war_ for you. I’ve been- _Regard_ ?” His voice had risen alarmingly, his face hot with rage, but still he couldn’t seem to finish a fucking sentence. “How _dare_ you-”

Thomas' lips were on his, cutting off what might have been the beginning of his descent into madness. The words had been building in his chest, clawing at his throat, all the years of despair and anguish, all the shame and horror, everything wanting to come out all at once in the face of Thomas Hamilton thinking for even a moment that James might not want him. It wasn’t really a kiss so much as it was as a stopper, but it did its job, sealing the words back in his mouth. 

James’ entire body coiled with unbearable tension for a moment as their lips touched, before all at once sagging. He dropped Thomas’ wrist to bring both hands to the other man’s face, deepening the kiss. His fingers traced his jaw, running up across his cheekbones and then tangling in his hair. It was longer than he remembered, but still softer than it had any right to be, under the dirt of travel and the heat. 

“I’m sorry,” Thomas whispered when they drew apart, foreheads resting against one another, sharing breath. “I didn’t mean to-”

James cut him off with another kiss. He didn’t want to talk, wasn’t sure he _could_. But Thomas, as he always seemed to have, understood. He melted against him, arms coming up to cling at the back of James’ coat, pulling him closer. The kiss was achingly familiar, a memory he’d scarcely let himself recall for years. He might have been embarrassed at the broken sound, a half choked out sob, that escaped him when Thomas pulled back, if it had been anyone else. But it wasn’t. It was Thomas and shame wasn’t something that was needed between them. Not for this. 

They pulled back slowly, both reluctant. Thomas seemed to like the lack of contact as little as James as he soon reached up and cupped his cheek. James leant into, closing his eyes and feeling the way his chest tightened with something that might have been joy, although it was sharp and jagged, painful. 

“You died,” he whispered, his voice tight to the point of breaking. 

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said, again. “I should have found a way to come sooner. I knew, I think, even when they brought me word that you’d died that it wasn’t true. It was exactly the sort of bile my father would throw at me. But it was easier to stop hoping, to just give up. I was a coward.” 

Tears were rolling down James’ face and he shook his head, almost dislodging Thomas’ hand. “I should have come. I should never have left you there.” 

“James,” he said, “don’t. This was my doing. I brought this down upon us, I knew what could happen, I should have listened to you, to Miranda, but I-”

“Stop,” he sighed, “just…” He was so tired, his body ached like he hadn’t slept or sat down in weeks. He couldn’t talk of it, of everything that had happened over the last ten years. It was too much and if he had to think about it much longer he really might go mad. Especially now it seemed that it had all been for nothing. All that time he’d been seeking revenge when he should have been _thinking_ , should have _checked_ , shouldn’t have let his fury overcome him. Reason might have let this moment happen so much sooner.

Thomas nodded, kissing him again, this time on his cheek and then again on each of his closed eyes. “Okay,” he whispered, then so softly it was almost inaudible, “Oh, _James_.” 

Then they were kissing again, hands tugging and teeth biting. It was enough to shake him nearly to his knees. He might have sunk down, but for Thomas’ arms around him, holding firm. 

The knock at the door startled him, but he didn’t pull away for a long moment. Instead he eased back, touching his forehead to Thomas’. “Yes,” he whispered. 

“Hmm?” he hummed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Yes, I intend to touch you again,” James answered, finally finding that his mouth was curving up into a smile of his own. 

Thomas’ laugh warmed him right through, lightening his chest in a way that he hadn’t felt since before he left London. 

Another knock at the door had him straighten up. “Yes,” he called, finally dragging himself back and attempting to pull his face into a more serious expression. 

Thomas’ face was flushed and he was smiling so sweetly that he almost called again for whoever it was to fuck off, but the door was already opening. James wasn’t able to keep his eyes from Thomas as Billy asked for permission, again, to get underway to retrieve Silver. He barely heard a word and Thomas’ eyes never left his face, but managed to agree and then Billy was gone. 

****

There was so little time. They’d reach where Silver was waiting for them in just a few hours and he would have to go back to being Flint, find some way to function in the role again. Mere hours when years, lifetimes, wouldn’t be enough to spend with Thomas, to bask in the fact he was there. But, he would have to make do. He would have to soak the feeling up now, hoard the memories as best he could. 

“You have a beard,” James said, running a hand through the hair covering Thomas’ chin. They lay tangled in his bunk. It really wasn’t big enough for them and meant Thomas had to lie mostly over him. James wouldn’t have it any other way. They had fallen onto it the moment Billy had gone, seemed unable to do anything that didn’t involve touching, reassuring themselves the other was really there. “Hardly proper for a Lord.” 

Thomas smiled thinly. “Perhaps that would be a problem if I still held the title.” He leant in and kissed James lightly on the nose. An apparent signal that they were not to talk of the past. It worried him, Thomas’ unwillingness to discuss what had happened, but he couldn’t find it in himself to disturb the peace between them. “Does it bother you?” he asked, touching his fingers to his cheek. “I can shave if it does. It just didn’t seem worth it before.” 

James shook his head. “I like it,” he grinned. “Makes you look roguish.” 

Thomas laughed, burying his head into James' chest. “Not a term I’ve been labelled with before.” 

“Does mine bother you?” he asked. “I know I look different now-”

Thomas kissed him. “I couldn’t care less if you were covered entirely with hair or had none at all,” he said. “Besides, your eyes are just the same and that’s precious enough for me that nothing else matters.”

He’d smiled more in the last few hours than he could remember doing in years. It left him giddy, light with affection. There was terror too, if he let himself dwell on it for too long. “We’ll be in Nassau in a few days,” he said, running a finger along the rise of Thomas’ shoulder. “It won’t be safe for you there.” 

“I’m not certain there are many places left that would be,” he pointed out. “Save here, perhaps, but I don’t suppose staying here permanently is practical.” 

James found himself smiling again. “No, although I’d find a way if it existed.” 

“I have no doubt,” Thomas said, a pleased quirk of his lips drew James attention for a moment. “That at least has not changed; you never did much like leaving bed.” 

“Can you blame me?” James said, letting a note of teasing enter his voice, “it’s been ten years. That’s a long time to wait to have you here again. There’s much time to make up for.”

Thomas paused, a question clearly forming in his mind before it was dismissed. James was grateful, he wasn’t eager to discuss what either of them had done without the other in that regard. No answer would make him feel better; it was safer to avoid it. “I do understand your concern about Nassau, but we need to understand who had me taken and you thought it most likely that the answer would lie there, did you not? Once we have John-” 

They'd discussed what had happened to Thomas over the last few months in broad terms: Thomas being taken suddenly from his prison on a plantation only to be abducted by Silver just days later. James’ jaw clenched without his meaning it to, making Thomas pause. There were far too many unanswered questions for James' liking. But the mention of Silver was enough to derail his thoughts entirely. That Thomas was using Silver’s first name was bad enough, but it was clear that they had become friends in the time Silver had been gone. He knew they'd travelled together for a time, trying to understand what the purpose of his transport from Savannah had been. There was more, James could tell, but didn’t care to know it. The thought of it, the genuine affection Thomas seemed to have for him made James’ skin prickle with something like anxiety. 

The chances of Silver being the one to make this happen, to bring Thomas back to him after all that he’d done to betray James, was too strange. The thoughts wouldn’t sit together. He could barely think of Silver without his hands balling into fists. 

“I know he betrayed you,” Thomas said, frowning at him, trying to convey something that James didn’t care to decipher. 

“What?” He startled, unprepared for that revelation. 

“He told me. Well, he didn’t actually tell me, but it was clear. He was sorry for it.” 

“Silver doesn’t have the capacity for remorse,” James said, voice hard. 

Thomas didn’t answer. “He saved me,” he pointed out. “He brought us together again, for that alone I would owe him an immeasurable debt.”

“But, it’s more?” James guessed, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. 

“No,” Thomas said slowly. “Perhaps. I’m not sure. But I liked him, he was kind when he had no need to be. He was the first person to be so in a long time and I…” He trailed off, looking far away for a moment. “I wasn’t myself when we first met and I am grateful that we did, that is all. You say that he isn’t to be trusted, and I believe you. I believe that he says one thing and does another. I just also believe he does that against his better nature.” 

“It hardly matters why he does it,” James snapped, and then took a breath. “The last thing I want is to talk about Silver with you in my bed.” 

Thomas smiled down at him, there was something troublesome in the expression, but James was not of the mind to explore it. “What _do_ you want, then? With me in your bed?” 

James laughed, chest light again, as though the mention of Silver hadn’t tightened it with angry dread. “How would you like the list?” he asked, capturing Thomas’ mouth in a deep kiss. “In order of priority or alphabetical?”

Thomas rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “I do not wish to hear of promises you cannot keep, we are not far from land, you said.” 

James sighed. Thomas was right. There was no time for more than they were doing already. He found himself almost grateful for that fact. Thomas’ mere existence was more than he was prepared for. He felt overwhelmed, consumed by him, and adding sex to that would be a distraction he wasn’t sure he would be able to ignore. And he needed to concentrate, needed to be sharp if he was to deal with Silver again. Deal with the men. Billy. Everything. 

He pushed the thoughts away, smiling up at Thomas, running his fingers along his cheekbone. It was miraculous. It had felt like that in London, too, being able to touch him like that. Now it felt almost unearthly, something so sacred it needed to be protected, coveted, even. He felt greedy for it, even as the strength of his feelings shook him. He loved him more than he had the capacity to fully comprehend. 

Thomas watched him carefully, as though trying to understand what James was thinking. “We have time,” he said, softly, reassuring. “We have time now. I’m not going anywhere.” 

James closed his eyes against the promise that Thomas could never keep. He kissed him instead of answering, soft, chaste and lingering, like he could lock the feeling in him. 

****

“We’re going to Silver?” Billy’s frown spoke volumes as he watched James. “He's completed whatever errand he’s apparently been on for you?” 

“Was I somehow unclear?” He didn’t look at Billy. He didn’t want to give anything away of his feelings on the matter, and Billy was becoming ever more perceptive. “And I would think that was obvious from the fact we have-” He paused for a second, not having prepared a name for Thomas in advance, “Mr Smith and now we are getting Silver.” 

There was a long pause where James pretended not to notice that Billy was still there. “So he is to take back up his duties and I can return to my men full time, as agreed?” 

_Not if I have a single thing to say about it._ But there wasn’t really any way for James to disagree. This had been the lie by omission that he’d told to keep Billy and his calming influence on the ship. With John back, he would need another plan. “There may be need for Silver to conduct other business, that is something we will need to discuss.” 

Billy’s sigh was loud and not in any way restrained. James missed the Billy that was afraid of him. “I only agreed to be here to stop more bloodshed, to keep this alliance between us and Vane alive long enough for Silver to return. My place isn’t here. Not anymore. I have men depending on me back on Nassau, they are waiting for Silver to return so we can retake the island. Or had you forgotten that?” 

“The men on Nassau will be best served by ensuring the alliance continues, and me being Captain of _The Walrus_ is integral to that.” Billy was right, of course, which was the most frustrating part of the conversation. They couldn’t continue on with the blockade forever, the people on the island would soon turn on them. They needed to press their advantage. But, Billy had been reluctant to do so until Silver had returned and they could use his name to rally more support. That this problem was still not solved, didn’t improve his mood. He tried to turn his attention to the document in front of him, hoping that Billy might drop it entirely. There was another long pause, filled only with the scratching of James’ quill. 

“The men will want better answers than, ‘None of your concern’ if Silver leaves again. They won’t fight for you, they wait for Long John Silver.” 

The conversation was starting to fray his already short patience. He didn’t want to be doing this. He was no longer sure he even wanted to _be_ Flint, not when Thomas was so close. He also didn’t want to think of Silver or the way he had left him and the immediate aftermath. He just wanted peace. “Then I suggest you find better answers.” 

“And how long will that-”

He looked at the paper in front of him and realised that he didn’t even know what he was writing any more. He sighed and looked up. “Again, Mr Manderly, that sounds like something that it is your job to manage. Be the quartermaster, lead your men. It’s hardly my place to dictate.” 

Billy stared at him, eyes hard. “I am not someone that you can dismiss anymore. You need me as much, if not more, than I need you. I will play along until we get Silver back, but after that I’m leaving and we _must_ retake Nassau. I will expect you to keep me abreast of your plans so I can decide how to support you - or not.” 

The thought, while not new, made his chest hurt. He hadn’t formulated a plan. And he should have. He had no idea what he was going to do now. Thomas was back and that should mean… He wasn’t sure. That had never been part of any plan, any _hope,_ about this entire endeavour. 

The thought of just stopping was like an itch in the back of his mind. He could just let Flint slip back into the deeps of the ocean and retire somewhere. But that seemed so distant. And it wasn’t practical; he couldn’t simply walk away now. Someone had taken Thomas from where he’d been hidden which meant they had plans for him. It would be ridiculous to assume those plans were not related to him. Which meant someone knew he was James McGraw and what he and Thomas were to each other. Whoever that was needed to be dealt with. After that… well, there was time. He and Thomas hadn’t discussed it. Perhaps he could ask. 

The very thought felt dangerous, though. Hoping for a future, hoping for something with Thomas, was too perilous. Thinking it to life made it tangible, and that made it possible to destroy. He put the thoughts of it away. He had a mission and in the meantime he needed to keep Thomas safe. And perhaps the only way to do that was to keep Nassau safe. All plans seemed to lead to the same place. The plan remained, but with some additions. He couldn’t be distracted.

Unfortunately, the first stage was to find Silver and understand what he knew. That Thomas felt somehow indebted to him now made things even more complicated. That James felt it too… He pressed down on the thought. Silver owed him for running out on them. He didn’t believe for a moment that he’d been honest with Thomas. There was every chance he knew more than he was letting on. The betrayal wouldn’t be forgiven just because he found it in his interests to let him know where Thomas was. Eventually. When he was backed into a corner and also needed rescuing. 

He sighed again and looked away from Billy. Who knew how much the man already knew. No need to confirm anything else. “I imagine that part of our time in Nassau will be formulating a plan of action, yes.” 

“And your guest? He’ll remain aboard?” 

James paused, pushing down the urge to lash out at Billy for even mentioning Thomas. “There are some details that are yet to be agreed.” He looked up and levelled Billy with the flattest stare he could muster. It eventually seemed to work and the other man just gave him an angry nod before stalking from the room. 

****

“ _Smith_?” Thomas asked, eyebrows rising. 

He’d returned not long after Billy had left, apparently keen to know how long it would be until they were to make port and to request that he join James in retrieving Silver. He would have refused the request out of hand, but the idea of leaving him behind was somehow worse than putting him in potential harm’s way. He had no mind to fight anyway, and the argument was over before it even started. He’d moved on quickly to the subject of Thomas’ impromptu name, partly because it was important for him to stick to the name now, but mostly because he knew the reaction it would receive and seeing Thomas smile was like a balm over his soul. 

Thomas laughed softly as he stepped close, arms encircling James’ waist and resting their foreheads together. 

“I panicked,'' James admitted, smiling, surprised at how easily it came with Thomas so close. “I couldn’t tell him your real name, not with someone looking for you.” 

“Still,” Thomas said, his own smile mirroring James’, “surely there are more refined names you could have thought of.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, my lord,” he said, hands stroking lazy circles over his back, still trying to ground himself in the reality of his presence. It felt unreal, like a dream he was constantly terrified of waking from. He didn’t want to stop touching him, lest he melt away like his visions of Miranda after her death. Although these were altogether sweeter dreams if they weren’t real. Perhaps it was a kindness to never wake from them. “Is the name too common for your blood? Should I have tried for something better? Something that would help you really fit in with the crew? Delafontaine, perhaps? Or Vanderbilt.”

Thomas laughed, delighted and a little embarrassed seeming, both at once. “Yes, alright. I take your point.” 

“Charmant perhaps?”

Thomas kissed the words off his lips and James let him, swallowing his smile and pulling him close. They had precious little time, land had already been sighted, but James was content to use it like this. 

**** 

Thomas was not nearly the only volunteer to mount the possible rescue of Silver. The thought sat poorly with James. He knew John’s popularity with the crew was not something he could easily overlook, and none of them would take Silver leaving permanently with anything but suspicion towards him. Not that there was a way around it. There was no way he could trust him now. He had thought, once, that he might have found a true partner, someone he might rely on, that he could confide his entire plan to. He’d even considered telling him about Thomas, something he’d never truly wanted to do before. And then John had left. With no word. No warning. He had seen too much of James and found him wanting. 

That was not something he could afford to have on the ship. Silver didn’t follow orders at the best of times, but now, with him clearly thinking that James was unfit to lead them to any sort of victory, it was too dangerous. He couldn’t risk dividing the crew if they disagreed, the whole situation in Nassau sat on a knife’s edge, and Thomas was with him. He would risk nothing that he wasn’t certain of now. 

It might have been easier not to get Silver at all. He complicated things. But there was no choice now the crew knew he was waiting for them. But, he also couldn't deny that a part of him wanted to go. He wanted to see Silver again. To see if perhaps there was some explanation for what he did. It was folly, of course. Silver had never given James what he wanted, the opposite, if anything. 

In the end retrieving Silver turned out to be a simple affair. They found him at an inn exactly where they had expected him to be. James tried to shake off his concerns as they entered with little success. His mood was dark and he knew there was little that would lighten it until he found a path forwards. 

He saw Silver immediately as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. He would know the shape of him anywhere, even without the distinctive hair and gait, the outline of his figure seemed as familiar to James as any he’d known. The thought did little to lift his mood. 

“John!” Thomas called, pushing forward from behind James, and striding through the crowd towards Silver. 

_John_. The name surprised him, despite Thomas using it when they were alone. Perhaps it shouldn’t have, Thomas never was one for formalities, and neither was Silver. But, still, that name filled with such fondness in Thomas’ mouth was unsettling. It was his two lives colliding, but more, it lit something strange and unformed in his chest that he didn’t want to think about it. 

Silver’s head snapped up, his eyes going wide when they landed on Thomas. It was almost impossible to miss the look of relief that spread across his face, although it was stifled quickly. They met mid-way between James and the door. Thomas pulled himself up short as they reached one another and James noted the way Thomas’ hand curled at his side, like he’d been half-intending to reach out. His eyes lingered on Thomas’ hand before flicking up to his face. They stared at each other for a long moment before Silver nodded in greeting and began to speak. 

James hung back, eyes narrowing when he found Silver’s eye drawn from Thomas to him. They lingered, not quite meeting his eye, before flicking back to Thomas with determination. So, Silver understood that his actions in leaving were not going to be easily forgiven. The thought was gratifying, even as it hardened his resolve. He watched the two men as they exchanged stories for a moment before he stepped forward and spoke. 

“We need to leave.” His voice was hard, commanding. “There may be more people looking for you and I have no wish to draw attention to our whereabouts.” 

Thomas’ eyes flicked to him, his eyebrows rising at the tone. Perhaps it was the first time he’d heard it. The thought was discomforting, Flint had been a role for so long it was no longer clear if there was any daylight to be found between him and McGraw. 

Thankfully neither Silver nor Thomas disagreed, instead falling into step behind him as he turned and left the way they’d come. the rest of the men, who had been waiting outside in case their assistance was needed, fell in behind them. None of them spoke as they made their way back to the ship. 

***

Flint kept close to Thomas until they were back on the ship. He didn’t look at John, didn’t turn around as they parted. But John couldn’t tear his eyes away from them. Flint had fallen back to walk a little behind Thomas almost the moment they were outside, leaving the small band of the crew that were waiting outside to trail behind them. It was clear he was checking for danger from every angle. John couldn’t exactly blame him, their position was precarious, despite their number. The lack of information about what was happening was worrying and it made it hard to plan with any real accuracy. 

But it was more than that, of course. He saw the way Flint looked at Thomas: his whole face changed. It was like seeing an entirely different man. One that John thought he might have glimpsed that night, after Dufresne, when John had first realised that things between them were shifting, becoming more than John really knew how to handle. Being proved right about that thought wasn’t a comfort. It was different of course, the look Flint was giving Thomas, than anything he’d directed at John. It was a mix of terror and awe. John had never been given back the thing he loved more than anything, something that would make him set light to the world because he believed it gone forever, but he imagined he might look at it like that too. 

John closed his eyes and let out a slow breath.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t believed Thomas that what he and Flint had had was romantic, that it was something more than a keen friendship or deep partnership. Or even that it was love. But he somehow hadn’t quite managed to parse that it also meant that they’d fucked. That Flint liked men. Flint had been in _love_ with a man. 

The image of Flint being in romantic love was perhaps strange all on its own. Something so delicate and fragile in the hands of Flint’s intensity seemed dangerous. It was, he supposed. A decade of fire and blood showed that clearly. But it was also… John shook his head and opened his eyes again. The tenderness. That was what kept flittering behind his eyes. The gentle way Flint had reached for Thomas, touching the small of his back, before he gestured for him to go below deck and get some sleep. Thomas’ face had softened, relaxing when James’ hands were on him. It made something twist strangely in John’s chest. 

John had never imagined Flint capable of it. In truth, his mind had skittered away from any thoughts even vaguely related to Flint in that context. He’d even refused to engage in idle speculation about Mrs Barlow - a favoured past time for many of the crew - asserting disinterest in the topic. 

There had been little time to think after Thomas had been taken and left it to John to mount a rescue via Flint. He’d had his hands full, planning how to keep Thomas’ captors on the island long enough for a message to reach Flint and for him to arrive. But at night, while John hid in the scrub around the edges of town, he’d had to work hard not to think about it. The thoughts had felt dangerous. More dangerous than helping Flint to capture a war ship. More dangerous even than John being willing to stamp a man’s head into the ground for him. It felt like the sort of thought that would take root, tie John down with so many knots he’d never claw his way free. Worse still, that he’d do it willingly, and by then it would be too late. 

And that couldn’t happen. Because the thing he knew, had always known, was that he and Flint united would be a force to be reckoned with. The sort of force that it might prove difficult to stop without so much blood spilled it would turn the ocean red. 

He shifted in his hammock, hoping to shake the thought free. He tried to focus on anything else, even trying to recall inventories from hauls they’d taken in the past. But somehow that led back to Thomas, to the delicate way he climbed aboard _The Walrus_ , and the way Flint’s eyes traced his body as he moved. 

He stifled the heavy sigh that wanted to escape him and climbed out of the hammock. He moved through the snoring men and out onto the deck, the cooler night air hitting him and allowing him to breathe more easily. He closed his eyes. It wasn’t peaceful, not with the men still working all around him, but being able to better feel the forward motion eased something in his chest. 

It couldn't last of course. John didn’t seem destined for peace. He knew it was Flint at his side without opening his eyes. None of the other men would approach him without greeting, nor would they stand so close. He could feel the long, hard line of Flint at his side. 

“Thomas likes you,” Flint said, and when John opened his eyes he found Flint’s on the dark line of the horizon. “He wants to keep you around.”

John held himself still. “And you would throw me overboard.” 

Flint’s eyes flicked to him and away. “He wants you around, thinks you’ll be useful.” 

John nodded, not allowing himself to linger on the lack of denial. “I am often useful.” There was a part of him, he knew, that was grateful to Thomas for speaking for him. He hadn’t truly believed that Flint would kill him outright. Not after John had played a part in helping return Thomas to him. But it was still a relief to know there was someone standing between him and Flint’s anger. 

“You’re not to be trusted, you’re selfish and a liability. If I can’t rely on you, then you’re worse than useless. You’re a danger.” He placed his hands on the wood in front of him, fingers flexing with emotion, around it. “I am unwilling to have a danger aboard this ship.” 

John nodded. Precious cargo often made men more superstitious. “The men like me too,” he pointed out, unable to keep the words in. It wasn’t as though he was intending to stay, but he’d never been able to resist poking at Flint. He always wanted a reaction, wanted Flint to acknowledge him, be moved in some way by his presence. “They don’t trust you. That many men unwilling to follow you poses more danger than one that might leave.” 

Flint sighed. “Yes,” he conceded. “But, I cannot count you into any plan. I cannot count you at all. Which means that I must find a new way to make them trust me. So, we are at the same point.” 

“It’s not like I can go anywhere now we’ve set sail,” John pointed out. 

Another sigh. Flint knew all of this, perhaps had already talked it through with Thomas. The conversation was entirely pointless. Why had Flint come at all? To tell John things they both already knew? It made no sense. But then he could count only a very few occasions that Flint seeking him out to discuss his thinking that made sense to him. Sometimes it seemed that Flint just wanted him to know. 

“You could threaten me,” John said, trying for levity and mostly failing. 

“What would be the point?” Flint didn’t look at him, his eyes searching the horizon for something. 

“Might make you feel better.” 

“I won’t feel better until you’re far away from me and those I care for,” he said, voice heavy with sincere emotion. 

John swallowed. He knew that, but apparently knowing and hearing it were different. His heart felt like it was trapped in a vice. He was used to Flint’s rejection. That was what had marked most of their relationship. It used to be an, almost, fun game: try winning Flint over. Then he’d succeeded and seen how stupid and dangerous it was. He swallowed down half-formed words, apologies, excuses, furious accusations. “Well, once we reach Nassau your wish will be my command.” 

Flint shook his head, turning for just a moment to look at him. “You’ve never followed a command of mine that didn’t suit you,” he said. “I will not expect you to start now. But you will keep away from me aboard this ship. I would have you keep away from Thomas but he doesn’t see you as I do. He thinks you saved him.” 

“I _did_ save him,” John cut in, unable to keep the sharpness from his words. “I _did_ save him, Flint. I brought him back to you after all this time and the least you could do is-”

“What?” Flint asked, suddenly looming into his personal space. “What is the _least_ I could do? You brought him back because you believed it would, what? Allow you back into my confidence? A cut of the treasure? Because, however I turn this, Silver, I cannot work out why you’re here at all and I cannot believe that you mean me - or Thomas - well.” 

The words stung in an unexpected way. “I wish you no ill-will,” he said. That had never really been John’s aim and now he couldn’t see a path where it would be. 

Flint shook his head. “You do not care if I live or die. Perhaps you wish I were dead, I cannot be sure. But, it doesn’t matter, this time I will keep my own counsel. You will not speak with me again. Is that clear?” 

_“Or what?”_ he wanted to ask. But he didn’t. “I’ll have no choice but to speak with the captain. The men all believe that I was on an errand for you, isn’t that what you said? They cannot think there is a rift between us.” 

Flint flicked his eyes to him once more before pushing away from the side of the ship. “Figure it out,” he snapped. “I don’t care what you tell them. Just leave me alone.” 

John swallowed around the emotion caught tightly in his throat as he watched him leave before looking back out to sea. Enforced distance would most likely be for the best. It _was_ for the best. The last thing John needed was so see Thomas and Flint closer than he already had. He didn’t need to see what changes it might bring in Flint, in Thomas. He certainly didn’t want to see how it would move them ever-further from him and towards each other. Better that they took their separate paths as soon as possible. 

****

It filled John with a sort of horror, how quickly he fell back into it. How much he yearned to understand everything he’d missed while he’d been away. Billy didn’t ask questions about where he’d been and John wondered if that was because he knew, somehow, that John had never really intended to come back. Instead he set about filling him in on everything. John shouldn’t have been surprised, no one ever really cared what he wanted, only how he could be useful to them in achieving their own ends. That this was because John wanted them to see him that way didn’t make it hurt any less. Didn’t make the weight less hard to bear. 

“Flint has been singularly focused,” Billy said, glancing at John pointedly. There was an accusation in his tone that confirmed that Billy knew John hadn’t really been sent somewhere by Flint. He filed the information away. Billy was much more perceptive than he once had been. 

“When is he not?” he returned, head cocked to the side, waiting for Billy to get to the point. 

“I think he was worried about losing you on top of the alliance with Maroon.” 

John carefully didn’t react. Billy was fishing for something, he just wasn’t sure what. That the alliance with Maroon had fallen apart was no great surprise. He had half been hoping for it before he left, he had planted the seed of it with Madi. His last great story, aimed to give Flint freedom from a war that he could never win and would never end. He was stupid to assume Flint would be so easily deterred. But it stung that it had led to such suffering amongst the crew; he’d thought Dobbs a good man. He didn’t envy Flint his decision to have him killed as retribution to keep together two crews that had so little to bind and so much to divide them. Madi probably wouldn’t have approved of it even before John’s gentle suggestion that Flint’s temper would lead them down a dark path. 

“But he has the guns and men, and Vane is still with him?” John asked, watching Billy carefully who shrugged. 

“Vane is tied to Nassau now,” Billy continued, respect clear in his voice. Another piece of the puzzle that John filed away carefully. 

“But the relationship between him and Flint?” 

“Stable enough,” he said. “Vane wasn’t pleased that he left Teach for a vision that seems to have fizzled out before it really got started, but Flint convinced him that it was just a matter of time. They’ve been blockading Nassau and my men have been stirring up as much discontent as possible; it’s not hard with the trials happening so often.” 

That made sense. Vane didn’t have much choice but to believe in whatever Flint told him; men backed into a corner often chose the easiest story to believe. This was Vane, though, and he would want action sooner rather than later, especially if pirates were being killed on the island. “And the treasure?” 

Billy’s eyes were sharp in the dark. “Split four ways. Vane, Flint, Maroons and Rackham all got a cut.” 

John nodded. It was much as he expected. Flint had been forced back into lower ambitions of securing Nassau from civilisation’s grasp. There had been some, admittedly small, part of John that had hoped he might have given up entirely. 

He rubbed a hand over his face. He needed to get off this ship. Sailing to Nassau to drop Billy off wasn’t really what he wanted to be doing. It would be much harder to find anonymous passage on another ship in a place where so many people knew him. That didn’t mean he couldn’t do it. It was just harder than he might have hoped for. He would go with Billy, something the men would understand in the short term, and simply not come back. Let Flint come up with some reason. Perhaps he could make him into a martyr for the cause. He was sure he’d like that. 

“The men are still waiting for you,” Billy said, when John didn’t ask more. 

“What?” 

“You started something that night with Dufresne. It was powerful, Long John Silver can’t be killed just because you disappeared for a few weeks. They’re waiting for you - _I’ve_ been waiting, so we can retake Nassau with you leading them. Long John Silver arriving home to take back what’s his.” 

John sighed, suddenly tired. “I see.” 

“We told them you were off doing something about the Spanish gold but that you’d be back.”

John felt a grim smile pull at his lips. There was something darkly amusing about the spectre of his past life lingering after he’d fled from it. But there was still time. Just because his new life had turned out to lead him right back to his old one, didn’t mean that it was a bad plan. He just needed to wait it out. 

“They need you,” Billy persisted, because he was as single-minded as Flint in some ways. “It will finally tip the balance in our favour, with you, there will be more willing to fight. It’ll be enough to take the island.” 

John looked at him. “Seems like they have a lot of people to fight for now. Flint, Vane, you.”

“They need _you_ ,” Billy said again. “You know that you’re the only one that can control Flint, that can make sure we come out of this with anybody left alive to keep Nassau safe. You and Flint were the plan, Silver, that hasn’t changed.” 

He nodded, because it was easier than trying to argue. 

“Who is it that we picked up?” Billy’s tone was firm and certain. He expected an answer. He truly thought that they had a partnership. John was surprised to find how sad the thought made him. He had left many people in his life, perhaps more, now, than had left him. He was surprised to find that it still hurt him to do it when they weren’t expecting it. 

“What’s that matter?” he asked, not wanting to show he knew too much but also not that he didn’t know anything. It was a careful balance to maintain a position that complimented the one in power, but didn’t make you a direct target. 

“Because he’s important to Flint and that means he might be a liability to the plan. I don’t like not knowing all the angles on this. Not when it’s my men on the line.” 

“I thought they were my men.” It was meant to provoke, divert from Thomas. 

Billy’s eyes flashed dangerously and John had to keep from smiling. Dear, predictable Billy. “They follow me. You don’t know what I’ve been doing while you’ve been off playing at spies.” 

John raised his eyebrows. “Well, it can’t be both, Billy. Either they wait for me, or they follow you.” 

Billy got to his feet. “I’m not here for this,” he said, jaw hard and hands clenching into fists. “I can wait for you to decide our next move, but not for long. If you’re not going to help me lead on Nassau, I'll have to find someone who will. I won’t risk this falling apart.” 

John nodded again. The feeling of regret at leaving felt heavy in his gut. He had known, the first time, that it would mean abandoning men that had come to trust him. As if leaving Madi wasn’t bad enough, despite the assurances she had given him that she understood, and that her feelings towards him would always be warm. He knew it was a betrayal of more than just her. Or Flint. He knew that and it had been the one of hardest things he’d ever done, despite his inability to _not_ run. That was who he was, when he got right down to it. He didn’t _do_ this. He didn’t form attachments for this very reason. 

“You’re a good man, Billy,” he said, voice heavy. 

Billy looked at him, searching his face. “Jesus,” he hissed, shaking his head with a look that might have been surprise or disappointment. 

“I-” John started. 

“Fuck you, Silver,” Billy said, and then he was gone. 

John let out a long breath. His head was too heavy, suddenly, to keep up; he closed his eyes and lowered it into his hands. Just for a moment. He’d allow himself this weakness for a moment and then he would shrug it off and carry on. Just as always. 

****

“Are we ever going to talk about it?” James’ voice was hard, angry sounding, even though he didn’t mean for it to be. The tension in his chest was constricting, squeezing everything but anger out of him. Turning the fear into anger, just like he’d trained himself to do all his life. Even when he didn’t actually want to do it. 

Thomas looked up from the book in his hands. It was the first thing he’d done, once they’d managed to untangle themselves from each other: look at the small collection of books James allowed himself to keep aboard. He’d smiled, had commentary on most of them, of course - Thomas had yet to encounter a book he didn’t have strong opinions on - and some delight at ones that he’d never read. James carefully mentally side-stepped the thought that Thomas hadn’t been allowed to read a single book in over a decade. Instead he made a mental note to stock up on some of the titles he may have missed the first chance they got. But now the book looked awkward in his hand as he placed it down, like his nerves at James’ tone made him suddenly clumsy. 

“What are we talking about?” There was clear apprehension in Thomas’ voice, although he was trying to hide it. 

“You.” James stood up from behind his desk and walked to where Thomas was lounging on the bunk. “This,” he gestured between them. “What happens now.”

A flicker of fear passed quickly over Thomas’ face as he sat up, swinging his legs over the side so he could stand too. James looked up at him as he reached him. It wasn’t often that men towered over him like Thomas did. He’d forgotten the reaction his body always had to the feeling of it. Not that now was the time. It might now never be the time. They had found no good time for more than holding each other, for more than kisses since Thomas had woken up. He didn’t think it was a lack of will on either of their part, but there was something holding him back. Perhaps it was this. The lack of certainty of what would happen once they had Silver and were nearly at Nassau. 

Thomas swallowed and straightened his spine, although it was hard to miss the way his eyes darted to James’ lips before they went back up to his eyes. “Okay,” he said, voice carefully neutral. “Which order are we talking about these things in and in which manner?” 

“Thomas,” he said, his voice tight around the pain in his chest. The conversation was overdue. He should have had it the moment Thomas woke. Before they’d allowed themselves a proper reunion. At the very least before they’d gotten Silver. But hadn’t wanted to. Hadn’t wanted to think about the future. What it meant. What Thomas’ being back would really mean. But with Nassau now so close, it could no longer be ignored. “You cannot stay here.” 

Thomas swayed for a moment, face draining of colour. “You mean to send me away?” 

“No,” James said, hard and desperate, “but, it’s too dangerous for you to be here. I know you never wanted this life. It’s unfair to even ask you to be near it, especially after everything you’ve already-” He cut himself off, not sure he could bear to talk about the past and future at once when they were both so terrible. “But what I’m doing here is important. I had never meant for this to be my life, I always wanted-” He shook his head, clearing it of foolish wishes that meant nothing when faced with the reality of the world. “I thought once, in London, we could outrun it. Outrun England and her cruelness. But now… I fear there is no running. Nowhere safe for us to go.” 

Thomas’ brow was creased in obvious confusion. “You think I mean to ask you to leave here with me.” It wasn’t a question and James found himself relieved that he wasn’t going to have to answer it. “You are worried that there will be a choice.” 

“There is no choice,” James said, firm even though his voice continued to shake with emotion. And it was true. He would go where Thomas led. That decision had been made over a decade ago, when Thomas had first kissed him. But he also knew that it was impossible. They wouldn’t be able to truly leave this fight. Flint was a part of him now, and Flint _was_ this fight. He wasn’t sure what would be left if Thomas made them leave now. 

That, at least, granted him a soft smile. “My love,” Thomas breathed, his eyes shining in the dim light from the widow. 

James’ closed his eyes. It had been so long, and yet the words felt so familiar, like a home he barely remembered but had longed for with every ounce of himself. He reached out blindly, pulling Thomas to him. Their foreheads rested against one another as he gripped Thomas, probably too tightly, but he didn’t pull back. 

“My love,” Thomas whispered again. “There is no choice to make. What you are doing here, it’s important. I would help you finish it.”

“I can’t put you in harm's way.” The words hurt as he forced them through the tightness in his throat, but they needed to be said. “I cannot lose you. Miranda, she-” He shook his head. “I cannot do it again.” 

“I know,” Thomas said. “But good men have to stand in the face of such evil, James.” He kissed him firmly on the forehead and James leant into it, his heart seizing in his chest. “ _You_ are a good man. Let me stand with you. Let me take some of the weight.” 

He wanted to deny him. Wanted to send Thomas away, hide him somewhere no one would ever find him. Despite knowing it would never work. He couldn’t stand the thought of being separated for one thing. He felt half crazed with the need to keep Thomas in sight, to ensure he was whole and safe. That someone knew Thomas was alive, was trying to take him, made the thought impossible. He should take him and run. He knew it. 

The war wouldn’t survive without him there to guide it. He also knew that. The thought shouldn't matter, not with Thomas back in his arms. But it _did._ He didn’t know how to make it not matter. 

“James,” Thomas said, voice soft. “I want to help. I started this fight. _Please._ Let me help finish it.” 

He couldn’t answer. Any words that came to him felt like some form of betrayal. Of himself. Of Thomas. Of Nassau. He kissed him instead. Hard and hot, hands tangling in his hair, as he pulled him close. Thomas kissed him back. It felt like a benediction. It felt like the beginning of something and the end all at once. He gave in to it. Gave into letting Thomas stay. 

“James,” Thomas whispered, against his lips, urgent and strained. “James.”

He nodded. He’d been holding himself back, perhaps they both had, until this moment. He needed to be sure. Needed to be sure before he surrendered entirely. As if there was ever truly any possible outcome but this. As if any part of him would be able to deny Thomas Hamilton. 

His hands were at Thomas’ shirt, pulling and tugging. There were so many buttons, he fumbled with the fabric, his hands clumsy. They were shaking, he realised, dumbly. He looked at them, resting against the white of Thomas’ shirt. 

“James,” Thomas said again. This time his voice was gentle. 

James took a breath, shuddering and shallow, and looked up at him. Their eyes met and held. It was quiet, as quiet as the ship ever got, and James could hear their ragged breathing filling the small room. 

“I-” he started, but with no real idea of what he was even trying to say. 

“I know,” Thomas said, dropping his forehead to James’. “I know.”

They stayed like that, soaking each other in, for a long time. James could feel his heart, which had been beating rapidly, begin to slow as he let himself relax. 

“I missed you,” Thomas said, softly. “Every day.”

James nodded, unable to find the words to respond. He sniffed, swallowing heavily. 

“I love you. I will always-”

He kissed him, stopping the words. They hurt. Everything hurt. It seemed strange, that the thought of him should still be so painful even when he was pressed so tightly against James he could feel the entire length of him. 

The years between them stretched out behind his closed eyes. There was no part of him that during that time hadn’t been changed, hadn’t been violently torn apart and remade, gnarled and ugly. He didn’t want Thomas to see it. Didn’t want everything to have changed. Didn’t want to try to fit back together with him only to find that the important parts were broken. That _he’d_ broken them, so they could be used to fight a war. 

“We don’t have to-”

He smiled, small and sad. “Thomas,” he whispered, “please stop talking.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his mouth quirking a little. “I think I’m-”

“I know,” he said. He could feel the anxiety radiating off him in waves. Perhaps it really had been ten years for him. Over a decade of no one touching him at all, not like this. It would be overwhelming for anyone. 

He kissed him again, slow and exploring. Thomas’ hands fluttered at his sides, as though unsure where to put them. It was another change. In all their time together, not once had Thomas faltered, seemed anything less than totally in control. 

It was that, more than his own changes, that finally made it all fall into place. Things were never going to be the same between them. That perfect time, his memories of London, were always going to remain just that. 

“Thomas,” he said, voice catching in his throat. “I should have come for you. I wanted- I should have come. I shouldn’t have left you.” 

Thomas sighed, his face dropping. “And I should never have pushed us all so far just to try and win some undefined game against my father. We can’t undo the past, James, but we’re both here now. That is what matters.” 

“I don’t know how to forget, to make it not matter-”

“I know, it’s hard,” he cut in. “But we start again. We can build something new, together.” His voice was shaking, all the confidence from London gone. “If you want it.” 

“Of course,” he said, immediately. “Of _course_ , I want it. Always.” 

Thomas nodded again. “Okay.” He heaved a breath, letting it out slowly, like he was gathering himself. “Okay.” 

“Come here,” James said, tugging him closer. 

And then he looked around. The bunk wasn’t really suitable which really only left the floor. The floor of his filthy fucking cabin. On a pirate ship. A room where he’d killed his only friend with his bear hands. Thomas deserved more than this. He deserved more than anything James had left to offer. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “This isn’t really what I- It’s not-”

Thomas smiled. “Up to my exacting standards?” 

James gestured, unsure what to say. “You deserve so much more.”

Thomas’ hands came up to cup his face. “I have you. There is nothing more that I could possibly want for.” He kissed him softly and stepped back, squaring his shoulders before going to the bunk and pulling the blankets off. He bent to spread them on the floor before carefully folding himself down on top of them. He looked over to James and raised his eyebrows expectantly. 

James was powerless to resist, even if he had wanted to. And not a single part of him did. It was awkward, as he lowered himself to the floor, but then Thomas was there, smiling and pulling him close. His shirt was partly undone from where James had managed to fumble open a few buttons. He slipped his hand inside, feeling the warm skin of his chest. Thomas’ eyes fluttered shut as he swayed into the touch. James trailed his fingers to his collarbone and then lightly traced up his neck to his jaw. Thomas tipped his head, giving him better access and James opened his hand and gripped his neck gently to bring him closer. 

They met halfway, lips gentle and exploratory. This time when his hands went to Thomas’ shirt, he took his time, slowly unbuttoning it and then drawing it up and over his head. Thomas followed his lead and soon they were pressed together, chest to chest. It was almost overwhelming, the feel of it, the heat, and James had to pause to breathe, let the moment sink in. 

Thomas tugged him down so James was laying over him. He braced himself on his forearms, shifting, so he could stare down at him. He wanted to be able to see him, to reassure himself that he was really there. 

Then Thomas smiled at him, and finally James saw it. Something that was so totally familiar that it sucked the breath out of him. He’d seen that smile so often in London, in moments just like this, that they were etched forever in his mind. He had hoarded them, kept them safe, so he never lost them. Treasured. Precious. He never thought that he’d get the chance to make another one. 

“There you are,” he said, smiling, joy blossoming in his chest. 

Thomas’ face lit up, warmed from the inside out. “Always,” he said. 

He didn’t want to look away from him, didn’t want to stop touching him. But then Thomas shifted under him, lifting his hips slightly, a provocation or perhaps just impatience. James smiled down at him, pleased to find that the desire was still there, that the time between their last meeting and this one hadn’t stolen that like it had so much else. He bent down to kiss him, using the movement as reason to lift his hips so he could start to unfasten Thomas’ trousers. The angle was wrong, and he couldn’t seem to actually undo them. In the end, he had to sit back and give Thomas room to do it himself while James did the same. 

Thomas was grinning ruefully at him by the time they were both, finally, naked. “I think I used to be better at this.” 

James smiled at him, genuine amusement mixed with fondness at his chagrin expression. “I think we both were.” 

He took a breath, gathering himself and pulled James back to him. “Something to practice, then,” he said, lips brushing James’. 

“Hmmm,” he hummed, running a hand over everywhere he could reach. “I appreciate your dedication.”

“I am a very good student,” Thomas agreed, arching up into James’ touch, his breath coming a little strained. 

There were no provisions in his quarters, the thought of ever needing any had always seemed utterly ludicrous to him. He was regretting that now, with Thomas so open and pliable under him. But mouth and hands would have to do until they were somewhere that he could find oil. The thought sent a shiver through him, not just at the prospect, but at the idea that they would have time to do it. There would be more opportunities to touch and to be touched. He could even take his time, now, really learn Thomas from head to foot. There had never seemed to be enough time in London. There was always something more important, some appointment that had to be kept or a three month trip across the world. But not now. This time James wasn’t letting Thomas leave his side. 

Thomas hissed out a pleased sound, his eyes fluttering closed, when James finally wrapped his hand around him and began to stroke. But it wasn’t enough, somehow not close enough. He moved down Thomas’ body, leaving kisses across his skin as he went, to take him into his mouth. 

Thomas gasped this time, perhaps something that might have been his name. He’d missed it, missed the taste of him, the weight of him on his tongue. It was an unexpectedly powerful feeling, giving pleasure in his way. He hadn’t expected to like it when he first tried it, but had not wanted anything to be taboo between them. There had been no cause of worry, however, because he’d loved it immediately; the expressive way it made Thomas sound and move, the smell, the primal feeling of it. He groaned, the pleasure making him throb and he moved a hand between his own legs to stroke, to relieve some pressure. Thomas gasped under him, hands touching, feather light, at his jaw, then over his head. It wasn’t going to last long, he knew that immediately, there was too much feeling between them for this to linger.

He needed to see Thomas when he came, needed to have this memory to add to the too few he already had. He pulled up after he’d sucked him only a few times, enjoying the jump of Thomas’ muscles under his hands as he bobbed his head to do it. He crawled up his body to kiss him and take them both in his hand in one moment. Thomas arched under him, mouth opening to him as they kissed. True to his expectations they were coming together just a few strokes later. James felt it rise up in him, rolling over him, as he shuddered and gasped into Thomas' mouth. 

He slumped onto him, breathing heavily, his body singing in pleasure. It felt like a lifetime since he’d experienced anything as simple as the pleasure that seemed to be simmering under his skin. They lay together, breathing for a long moment. Eventually James moved, lying down next to Thomas, who immediately curled into his side.

“It’s strange,” Thomas said, fingers running over his chest, “not having your hair to grip when you do that now.”

James quirked the side of his mouth. “I shall grow it back immediately.” 

“Thank you,” Thomas said, on a laugh. “I believe that if anyone could simply will their hair to sprout from their head overnight it would be you.” 

He laughed, kissing Thomas’ shoulder. “It may take a little longer than that.”

“When did you get rid of it?” he asked, his hand coming up so he could trace over James’ shorn head. 

He swallowed and looked away. “After Miranda,” he said. “I was decided to be what they called me - be a monster. It seemed fitting somehow.” 

Thomas watched him closely. “I can understand that. They shaved my head in-” he faltered for a moment, eyes going a little unfocused. It was only a second but James’ heart lurched strangely in his chest at the sight. Then Thomas blinked and seemed to come back to himself. “It makes you feel not yourself, and I can well understand why you wanted that.” 

He nodded, taking a moment to recover himself from both the reminder of Miranda and Thomas’ strange expression. “It helped, in a way, to distance myself from everything I was.” 

“And now?” Thomas asked. 

James smiled, sad but fond. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not the same man you met in London, but I find myself less minded to forget him entirely.” 

Thomas smiled. He looked so happy, so beautiful, that something vital in James seemed to spark back to life in his chest. “I’m glad,” he said. “I was rather fond of him.” 

James laughed, soft and a little embarrassed for some undefinable reason at the praise. He kissed him, soft, on the forehead. “Sleep,” he said. “You’ll soon find that the life of a pirate is hard and rest is not as easy to come by as you may want.” 

“There is nothing that I would want more than this,” he said. “But, I take your point. I suppose I shall have to sleep below deck like the other men? It would seem strange for me to be here now I am fully recovered.” 

James sighed. He was right, but the thought sat ill with him. They had yet to concoct a full story for who Thomas was and why he was joining them. He would likely need to start with the basics, better understand how the ship worked, before they found him any permanent job. The men would need to get used to him, too. Silver would help with that until they reached Nassau, and Thomas’ own charm would no doubt do the rest. Perhaps he could take over from Dufresne, but that would make it harder to earn the men’s respect quickly. There was too much to decide for tonight; it would need to be a problem for tomorrow. He kissed him again. “Tomorrow,” he said. “We will find a way forward then. Sleep now.” 

Thomas nodded, arms tightening around James for a moment as he rested his head on his chest. They stayed that way until dawn, when James rose, stiff from the position, but somehow better rested than he had been in years.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once Silver left things continued as they did in the show - the Maroon and Walrus crews didn’t get on but after the attack on the Maroon guard, Flint has Dobbs killed. This didn’t sit well with Madi (who wasn’t consulted). She never really trusts Flint without John there to convince her and so doesn’t fight to keep the alliance going. Flint ends up losing the chance to make the fight bigger than Nassau. 
> 
> Needing to keep the crew in line, and not exactly being popular after Dobbs, he convinces Billy to come back as Quartermaster by promising it’s only very temporary until Silver is back. 
> 
> James also thought it more important than ever that they let nothing happen to Vane so he rescues him.
> 
> Together they blockade Nassau (just as Teach did in the show) leaving them in a stalemate with Rogers, as without Long John Billy isn’t sure they’ll rally enough men to take the island. 
> 
> .... Roll scene.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy guys. As ever comments are loved. 
> 
> I’m agarlandoffreshlycuttears on tumblr if you want to chat Black Sails or any of these loveable idiots.

“There you are.” Thomas had to raise his voice so that it would carry over the noise of the sea and men hard at work making a ship go in the direction they needed it to. John looked over at him as he approached. He looked more at home on the ship than Thomas had imagined he would. John had never given much background on what he did on Flint’s ship, but Thomas had deduced it was an important role - John was just that sort of man. But he could see it now, how the men looked to him for guidance, more in some ways than they did to James. They _loved_ John. The adoration on their faces as John passed them was hard for anyone to miss, even surely John who seemed to want to pretend it wasn’t there at all. If anything he seemed disquieted by it. Perhaps that was part of what had made him leave. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were hiding from me,” he said when he got close enough. 

“That would be a fruitless plan on board a ship this size,” John sighed, looking away from Thomas back to the horizon. Was he waiting for sight of land? Thomas had the sinking suspicion he was. He’d suspected that John wouldn’t want to stay after everything he’d said about his time with Flint, but had hoped he was wrong, had hoped this conversation would be easier. 

“I wanted to thank you again,” he said, coming to stand by him. “What you did, getting James, keeping those men from being able to leave the island. It was… I’m not really sure how to thank you.” 

John shrugged. “They were never going to let me leave, either. Eliminating a threat to myself isn’t something you need to worry yourself with gratitude for.” 

“That’s not true,” Thomas said. He stepped closer, so their shoulders brushed lightly together. John edged away. 

“I’m leaving,” he said, jaw hard and eyes averted. 

Thomas nodded, trying not to show his disappointment. “Once we reach Nassau?” 

“Yes.” He kept his eyes pointedly averted. 

“We will miss you,” he said, feeling his way carefully forward, unsure why John was telling him - if it was just a courtesy or if he was hoping he might try to convince him to stay. “The ship won’t be the same without you. The men will feel it keenly.” 

John turned his head, eyes searching him for a long moment. “You’re staying, then?” 

There was little that got past John. He smiled thinly at him. “James and I have business to finish, if that’s what you mean. So, yes, I will remain Thomas Smith for the time-being.” 

John shook his head, looking only mildly disgusted with him. He had expected the reaction, but it still stung a little. Made what he had planned to do harder.

“I mean it,” he tried again, when John said nothing more, eyes hard and focused out to sea again. “We will all miss you: the men, me… James.” 

That got the intended reaction and John looked at him sharply. “I thought you didn’t lie?” 

Thomas couldn’t resist the little smile that spread over his face at John’s outraged expression. “I didn’t say I _never_ lie,” he said, “just not to you. And I haven’t started now. You must know that he-”

“He’s made his feelings clear,” he said. “And it doesn’t matter. This isn’t about him.” 

Thomas nodded, leaving the lie alone. It was only a partial lie, anyway, because while there was no doubt in his mind that John would stay, at least a little longer, if James were to ask him to. But he could also see that John was restless; he knew the feeling of being hemmed in and the signs were clear in every line of John’s body. He’d been preparing to leave from the moment he boarded the ship. “You feel trapped here.” 

John flinched, eyes darting away. “I’m sick of it,” he said, the words suddenly bursting out of him. “I’m not like you. You grew up being primed to play with people’s lives. You get to make the decisions. You can choose to involve yourself in Nassau and it’s future. But I didn’t choose any of this. I just want a way out. I don’t want this. I’ve _never_ wanted it. But no one will _listen_ , like I’m some dog to be dragged around to do whatever I’m told.” 

Thomas left the silence to hang for a long moment, not wanting to fill it with platitudes. “And what is it that you want, John?” 

“What?” 

“What is it that you want? Because through all of that little speech, you never actually said.” 

John tutted and shook his head. “Not this again. We’ve been through this. I’m not aiming for anything.” He turned to stride away, off the deck and back below. Thomas kept up easily, his much longer strides making up for the fact he was still a little unsteady with the constant motion of the ship. 

“Then how will you ever know to stop running?” he asked, as they descended the stairs.

“Leave it,” John snapped. 

“Fine,” he said, taking a breath to steady himself, “I apologise, that wasn’t my place.” John’s shoulders were bunched, defensive, and Thomas felt genuinely guilty for that. He hadn’t meant to push. He should have known better than to press at that locked door, he knew John wasn’t ready. “I just- I’m worried about you.” 

John huffed out a laugh. “I’ll be fine, Thomas,” he said, voice so certain that it gave him pause, freezing the question on his tongue. John carried on before he could say anything. “It’s what I do. But-” He started, eyes meeting his briefly and then darting away. 

There was a pause where Thomas waited for him to continue but it became clear very quickly that he had no intention of doing so. “But what?” 

John sighed, long and heavy. 

“John,” he said, dropping his voice, although there seemed to be no one there that might hear them. “I trust you, I would have you tell me what you are thinking.” He tried to smile but John wasn’t looking at him. “If you’re really going, I would have you leave me with your counsel at least.” 

“The truth?” John met his eyes for a moment before looking away again quickly, tightly pressing his lips together. He seemed uncertain in a way he never had before. It made Thomas oddly unsettled. “The reason I left in the first place was because Flint was never going to choose to walk away. There was no endpoint for him; this war he thinks he can win? It will never be over and he won’t leave it voluntarily. He won’t choose anything, _anyone_ , over it. So, I fear for you.” 

Thomas looked at him, genuinely surprised. Partly at the sentiment, but also that John had admitted it at all. “You think I don’t feel the same way as James about this war? I gave my life for it once already.” 

John swallowed. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not sure you’ve truly been tested in that regard yet. But I won't lie and say I trust Flint to keep any of us safe from harm. Not even you.” 

Thomas let that statement settle. He would need to examine it more carefully later. “And that’s why you left? You chose yourself over him?” 

John shook his head. “Over the war, I don't believe in it the way you both do, I never had.”

“Then why did you stay for so long?” 

John smiled, twisted and displeased. “First for the treasure and then…” He shook his head, hair falling messily about his face, obscuring it for a moment. “Hard to run with one leg gone.” 

Thomas let his breath out slowly. “And you care? If James and I die?” 

“Don’t,” John said, voice firm. “You know- It’s not in my power to stop it. Flint made his choice, you need to make yours. My dying for your war isn't going to make the slightest bit of difference.” 

“I would have you stay,” Thomas said. Admitting the real reason he’d sought John out. “I don’t know my place here. James is- I don’t want to put that on him and I think he needs you. I would have you stay a little longer. I know it can’t be forever, but you are coming to Nassau anyway. Why not stay a little longer, help us retake it at least? You can play the part that has already been carved out for you. Perhaps it will give you better options for when you do leave; surely there will be spoils if they take the island.” He could see the objections swelling in John’s chest and spoke over them. “It won’t be like last time. We all know you are intending to leave. Just, help me understand what I’m walking into. Help me support James like you might have. Help me replace you and then you can walk away with my blessing and leave me with a great debt should you ever be required to call on one.” The guilt formed cold and hard in his chest. It wasn’t fair to ask. Had he not seen the way John looked at James when he thought the other man wasn’t looking, he might not have done it at all. Thankfully he had and it gave him leave not to examine just how selfish he might be being. 

He wasn’t sure what made the difference, perhaps John truly had been hoping Thomas would talk him into staying. But he could see the moment of his victory clearly in the slump of John’s shoulders. It held little joy for Thomas in the moment.

“I can stay for the battle, and supposing that I actually live through that,” John said, clearly annoyed with himself but saying it anyway, “I can help you get acquainted with the crew; help you govern it with Flint. Then you won’t need me and I’ll be free of it.” 

Thomas relaxed. “Thank you.”

John shrugged him off, as ever, uncomfortable with sincerity. “This way no one will likely follow me once I leave and I can be free of you all.” 

Thomas wasn’t quick enough to hide how much the words stung. Truly, he hadn’t expected John to say something quite so harsh, although he should have known better than to get so close to a cornered animal. John’s face changed for a moment, as though upset at having caused the pain, but he didn’t take back the words. 

“Thank you,” Thomas said, hand coming out automatically to grasp John’s arm, like he might have before. John flinched and his hand ended up suspended between them for a moment before he dropped it back to his side. He settled for a nod and turned to leave. 

“You can be the one to explain things to Flint,” John said to his back. “He won’t like this.” 

“He doesn’t have to,” Thomas said, heart heavy in a way he hadn’t known until that moment that it could be. How had it already come to this? Making decisions for James that he knew he wasn’t going to want, even if it was for his own good in the end. “I’ll see you later, John.” 

He was starting to see why John had run and why James had thrown himself so completely into a war that he hadn’t seen such goodness, such _potential_ right in front of him. He wanted to turn around, wanted to tell John to go, to find peace. He didn’t. 

****

James hated the idea. Thomas had clearly known he was going to, had looked unusually uncomfortable when he’d told him. James had made no secret of wanting Silver out of their lives as soon as possible. He supposed that he should be more used to the feeling than wanting him around, but somehow he wasn’t. 

When Madi had told him that Silver was gone, that nothing bad had happened, but that he found himself unable to continue to give them, their cause, his support, he hadn’t believed her. Hadn’t thought she was lying, exactly, but that perhaps she had misunderstood, or that Silver was spinning a tale and would be back soon. Then he didn’t return. He didn’t come back after Flint had taken a bullet to the shoulder retrieving Vane and the treasure from Woodes. Didn’t return after they managed to trick and kill Hornigold. Didn’t return to calm his crew or settle the alliance with the Maroons. That had been the moment. When Madi had tried a little halfheartedly, and thus failed, to appease her mother’s fears about their alliance. When he’d seen the plan that had made him want to keep living slip away, he knew that Silver had truly left him. 

The sharp sting of it had dulled to an ache over the weeks since then. Similar, in a strange way, to the one he carried everywhere for Miranda. Only he didn't miss Silver in the same way. He _couldn’t._ He had loved Miranda. She had loved him. He hadn’t even really known Silver. Whatever had been between them, whatever James had been foolish enough to allow himself to think _might_ be between them, was an illusion. A man trying to stay alive and using James and his life’s work for his own gain. The shame of it, of how he’d felt himself start to open up, was enough to keep the rage stoked and ready to keep Silver at bay now. 

He would have refused Thomas’ suggestion out of hand had it not made so much sense. Had it not solved the biggest problem - or at least most pressing one - he currently had. The men were waiting on Silver to rally their support of him to take back Nassau. With that done he might even help with the next problem; the crew would not take kindly to Silver leaving, especially when Billy refused to return. It was yet to be seen if Thomas could hope to fill the hole, but he at least needed someone to recommend him. Even if he couldn’t replace Silver in a meaningful way, it might cement his place on the crew. So he allowed Silver to stay - short term until they had Nassau back and could divert the men’s attention with that. Perhaps they might not even notice Silver was gone. 

Still. He didn’t like it. He narrowed his eyes as he watched the scene playing out before him. The crew were celebrating Silver’s return the only way they knew how: drink and terrible jokes. James had only stopped by to let Silver and Thomas know that Vane was on his way to discuss their plans. Vane wasn’t pleased that James had left so unexpectedly - leaving him to the blockade alone - and so James could hardly refuse the meeting. 

He’d found Silver holding court below deck. It was his way of introducing Thomas to the crew. He’d attracted quite a gathering, because Silver didn’t know how to do anything delicately. Billy had departed as soon as they dropped anchor, apparently keen to return to his men, but the crew hardly seemed to have noticed now they had Silver for entertainment. 

Silver was mid-way through his speech, when suddenly he laughed. His head tipped back, exposing the long line of his neck as he let out a sound of genuine amusement at something Thomas muttered to him. Silver righted himself, clapping Thomas on the shoulder as he continued, now with Thomas grinning at his side, his own laughter less loud but no less genuine. They swayed into each other as Silver told whatever story he was spinning, turning slightly away from the others, apparently addressing just the other. 

There was a flicker of surprise as James watched them. He’d known that they must have gotten to know one another on the weeks on the road, but he hadn’t expected this level of obvious ease and friendship. Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised him, Thomas had always made friends easily and Silver himself liked to boast that he was impossible not to like. James had just never quite been able to picture it, his two worlds existing side by side so easily. They'd even formed a partnership, if what Thomas had told him was true. 

As he continued to watch from his position, half hidden behind a beam, Thomas bent low, leaning closer to catch Silver’s words in the noise made by the rest of the crew. His smile was small and familiar to James from a lifetime ago, from another world entirely. He murmured something that made Silver’s smile grow broad. They talked easily, quickly, as though this were something they were well used to. The men around them appeared to be lapping up the words, even as they jeered and shouted. Silver gestured to Thomas again, patting him on his arm and his hand remained there, outstretched a little longer than might be normal. Thomas’ answering smile was pleased, perhaps a little smug, as he replied. 

He wondered if a word of the story they were telling was true. He’d seen John spin narratives as easily as breathing and while Thomas wasn’t prone to lying, he had a flare for narration that would no-doubt hold the men’s attention if he put his mind to it. Perhaps this was part of whatever partnership they had formed. He’d got the sense from Thomas that whatever it was, it wasn’t entirely legal. The thought was strange, Thomas breaking the law, but stranger still that it would be Silver leading him into that world. Half of him had longed to know every detail, even while his pride would not allow him to ask a single question about Silver.

If this was part of their partnership, he could easily see why they’d been successful; they made a striking pair. All contradictions of height and colouring. Even their clothes - Thomas in his dirty whites and Silver all in black - looked to be taken from opposing worlds. But there was no doubt they fitted together. Thomas’ long, lean frame curved toward Silver’s stockier one and James found he couldn’t look away. 

“He’s here,” DeGroot said, suddenly at his side. 

James didn’t startle only because he’d had years of practice at not reacting. Instead he turned his head a fraction to acknowledge DeGroot with a nod and turned to follow him back up the stairs. 

****

It was a fucking mess. 

John had known it would be. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the panic and rage that wanted to take hold of him. He needed to focus on the task at hand: properly acquainting Thomas with the crew. But it was hard with Nassau so close. From this distance it looked as though nothing had changed, but the more he heard from the crew the more horror he uncovered. There were running skirmishes between the pirates and Rogers’ soldiers, but neither really possessed the ability for a definitive victory. 

Rogers needed to be taken care of. The thought had been forming since his conversation with Billy, and then Thomas had given him the push he needed. He felt, somehow, that he owed the crew of _The Walrus_ this much - a chance at retaking Nassau for themselves. Some part of him had thought, before he left, that Rogers would give in, would turn out to be a Governor just like all the rest of them and start to work with the pirates and not against them. He could see now that he wasn’t. He was something very different. Something much worse. There would be no rest for the pirates with him still alive.

He’d tried, at first, to tell himself Vane and Flint united would mean that no one could really stand in their way. But, he’d know that wasn’t true. The whole island knew they weren’t united in much of anything. They distrusted Flint and Vane was too unreliable to lead. He could feel himself becoming tangled again, vines taking hold of him and rooting him in place, no matter how he struggled. He had only agreed to staying in the short term, but the idea of leaving was already starting to look distant. 

The thought was terrifying, as he tried to focus on the job at hand: retake Nassau and help install Thomas as an irrefutable part of the rebellion. The second part he didn’t actually think would be all that difficult, despite Thomas’ very obvious lack of experience at sea. The small celebration that he'd managed to convince the crew they wanted to throw for him was proving what John already knew: Thomas was a likeable and clever man, had at some time, been used to people liking and following him. The qualities he’d started to see as they worked together had only further blossomed since he’d been reunited with Flint. He’d not even seen any sign of the distance in his eyes, not seen him forget himself once. Perhaps Flint was the part of him that had been missing. The thought made his heart heavy for reasons he didn’t care to examine. 

“Who is he?” Rackham asked, appearing at his side, and nodding to where Thomas was talking with a group of men a few steps away. John had known the Ranger crew were coming aboard, probably should have expected Rackham to immediately make himself at home. They had made the habit of exchanging information when they found themselves in the same place, so it was no surprise to have been sought out. He looked over his shoulder to find the shadowy outline of Anne Bonny behind him. How Rackham had picked Thomas out so quickly for inspection was more of a mystery. Although with his height and general demeanor, Thomas did tend to stick out in any room. 

“Smith,” John said simply. “Don’t know much about his history. Doesn’t seem to be a fan of the British empire.” It had never bothered John how easy lies came to him, it was good now, though, to feel there was some use for the talent that wasn’t just his own survival.

Rackham nodded. “Seems to be a hit already.” 

“He’s very… tall.” John allowed a small smile to grace his lips that Rackham returned. 

“Yes, that will be it.” There was a long pause. “And where have you been, Silver, other than picking up more waifs and strays for the cause?” 

John turned to look at Rackham but didn’t answer. He surely couldn’t really expect a response. “I hear I missed a very daring rescue,” he said instead. 

“Yes,” Rackham said. “Although that’s not how the story is being told.” 

“Oh?” 

“Apparently it was you, and you alone, that spirited Vane to freedom.” 

“Through ten locked doors and twenty guards?” Billy was very good at his job, John had to give him that. 

“Fifty,” Rackham said, sounding only mildly put out by the whole thing. 

“I’m sorry that your no doubt very heroic part will not make the histories,” John said, and raised his bottle to Rackham in a mock salute. “Perhaps I can get you a drink in recompense.” 

Rackham waved him off, annoyance probably only slightly feigned. “My part was mostly in the planning, it was your daring captain that did the deed.” Rackham eyed John closely before he continued. “I thought he might not return and, at the time, I’m not sure he cared much either way.” 

Cold horror trickled down John’s spine and he held himself tight, keeping his face neutral while he wrestled his emotions under control. “I’m not sure Flint can be killed,” he managed, when he was sure his voice wouldn’t waver. 

“I’m sure that’s what he’d have people believe,” Rackham agreed, apparently happy to drop his earlier implication. Maybe it was just his way of letting John know his concern and he was now trusting that John would take up the mantle of ensuring Flint’s self-preservation didn’t sputter out entirely. 

“Was there something you wanted?” John asked, finding his patience growing short. “Isn’t there a meeting we ought to be getting to?” 

“I can’t enquire about an ally’s health?” 

“You can, but you haven’t, so I can only assume you want something else.” 

“I like to know things,” he said with an easy shrug. “And you usually know more than most.” 

“And I get what in exchange?” 

“Information,” he said. “It’s a fair trade.” 

John leant forward, folding his arms across his chest. “Fine, you first.” 

“Vane is restless,” he said. “He gave up a great deal to be here and now the entire endeavour has stalled.”

"Well, that really sounds like a problem for him,” John said. “It benefits none of us to drag this out longer than we must, but we’re at a stalemate until we can mount an attack on the island that has a chance of success.” 

“And yet both you and Flint can disappear for weeks on end and leave us to do the heavy lifting.” 

John sighed. “I’m sure we can arrange for you all to have some much needed rest, Rackham, if this is what you’re getting at-”

“He wants the fort,” he said. 

John raised his eyebrows. “He wants revenge.” 

Jack didn’t react which was tantamount to agreement. “He did not take well to his near hanging by Miss Gutherie. Or Mrs Rogers as I hear she now calls herself.” 

“Is that so?” John was genuinely surprised by the news. But then Eleanor was a survivor and perhaps this was a necessity to that end, but somehow it seemed unlikely that she would allow herself to be tied like that to someone she didn’t want. Could it be that Eleanor had found someone that she could really love? Someone that was more than Max and Vane? The thought was disquieting. Rogers must be truly something in that case and therefore more of a problem than he’d suspected. 

“Ah,” Rackham said, suddenly nodding across the room to where Anne was motioning with her head for them to leave. “It seems the frivolities are over for the night.” 

John held back his sigh and looked over at Thomas who seemed to have noticed all the movement and was already making his way away from the group of men towards them. John waited until he was within hearing distance to speak. “Smith,” he said, the name feeling awkward on his tongue, motioning to the man at his side, “this is Rackham.” 

“Jack Rackham,” he was corrected, as Rackham did a strange heel click, almost like he was coming to attention as he nodded at Thomas. 

Thomas smiled at him, all easy charm, just like when he’d meet a mark for the first time. John was almost proud. “Thomas Smith, I’ve heard much about you.” 

“Is that so?” Rackham asked, as they made their way up the stairs and towards Flint’s quarters. 

“A great deal, in fact,” Thomas said, who somehow seemed to have the measure of Rackham already. “I heard that you advise Captain Vane as well as being the one to have first claimed the Urca’s gold, among other deeds. You will have to tell me of it.” 

Rackham raised his eyebrows at John, clearly amused and a little pleased despite himself. “I will allow you to buy me a drink once we have Nassau and tell you everything you wish to know.” 

Thomas only managed to nod before they were at their destination and he was opening the door just in time to hear Vane start to speak. 

“We have delayed long enough. The men were waiting for Silver,” he said, sounding only a little put out by the fact. “He’s here. It’s time we make our move.” 

Flint sat still, eyes moving about the room, taking stock of who was present before he spoke. “Very well.”

“Wait a minute,” John said, alarmed at the apparent total agreement in the room. All eyes turned to him and he shook his head. “And what’s the plan here exactly? Send Nassau into chaos, and then hope to rule over its smoking ruins? Unless we have a decisive victory, all we’ll succeed in doing is splitting it in half. We’ll be entrenched in an on-going battle that neither of us can win, until one side is all dead.”

“Then we best make it a decisive victory,” Flint hissed through clenched teeth. 

He knew now was not the time to be questioning his decisions, but he also couldn’t keep quiet. This was the whole purpose of him staying after all. “Just willing it to be so won’t make it happen.” He paused and watched Flint seethe for a moment. “Even for you.” 

“If you do not have the nerve for this plan, Silver, then I suggest you take your leave now.”

They glared at each other, Flint looked ready to get to his feet but Vane spoke before he could do anything. 

“I don’t give a fuck about whatever disagreement is between you,” he said, voice low but still it carried and brought silence in its wake. “We will take the fort. That will leave them with nowhere to hide.” 

“Yes,” John said, crossing his arms over his chest to turn his glare at Vane. “Obviously. And how do we do that?” 

“They cannot repel our force in its entirety.” 

“ _If_ we have Billy on our side and _if_ the men rally to us.” John looked around, surely someone would realise that this plan was far from foolproof. No one spoke. He sighed, slumping back. “The fort then,” he agreed. 

“That is where Eleanor will go the moment we attack,” Flint said and Vane nodded. “And it will already be guarded.” 

“I will take the fort,” Vane said. He sounded so certain. But that was Vane, he was pure conviction in his own potential. John almost envied him that, and there was little denying that it had worked for him until now. 

Flint nodded. “Silver and I will take the square, be the central focus for the men coming to us. We need to get word to Billy, so he can make ready.”

Vane nodded. John had a lot of questions, but he knew that no one present would appreciate them currently and there was nothing to be gained in starting an argument. 

There was a little more discussion about timings and the particulars of dividing the men, and John listened carefully. He looked over at one point to find Thomas watching the room with interest. He wondered what he was making of it, making of Flint in action. Was he surprised at the causal way they discussed so much death and destruction? He made no show of discomfort and asked no questions if so. Which was prudent, he was lucky that Vane hadn’t made a comment about him being in the room at all. 

The meeting broke an hour later, most of the plans agreed with just the small matter of putting them into a place to achieve them. John slowly got to his feet, turning to follow Rackham out of the room, when Flint spoke. 

“Silver.” His voice was a physical force, freezing John in his tracks. He turned to look back at him. “A word.” 

John didn’t hide his sigh as he turned back. Thomas paused for a moment, watching them both before giving him a short nod. “I will see our guests off the ship.” He looked for a moment over to Flint before he was gone. 

“Your opinion is not welcome,” Flint said, as soon as the door was closed. “You are not part of this crew and therefore your say is irrelevant.” 

“My part in the plan is fundamental,” Silver shot back, irritation flaring. “While it is my name, while my presence is going to rally the army you need, my _opinion_ is worth more than yours.” 

“You have no stake here,” Flint said as though he hadn’t spoken. And wasn’t that just the story of John’s life. Nothing he did, nothing he said, seemed to have an impact on the world around him. 

“My _life_ is at stake here,” he said, furious. “As is yours, and Thomas’, in case you haven’t considered what will happen if we fail.” 

Flint's hand curled into a tight fist, John watched his knuckles turn white where they rested on his desk. Invoking Thomas might not have been his best strategy, but he needed something to get through to Flint. Some way of making him listen. 

“I am staying for this fight,” John said. “You do not get to dictate when I am to leave, how long I stay. These men look to _me_. Therefore _I_ will have a say in what happens to them. Listening to me is what is going to keep your war alive.” 

Perhaps Flint had more to say on the matter, but John didn’t remain long enough to hear it. He stood and walked from the room, making sure to slam the door behind him. 

****

“They’ve gone,” Thomas said, pushing open the door. “That was the famous Charles Vane, then? He’s very… intense.” 

James looked at him, eyes flicking up from where they’d been staring blankly down at his desk. He didn’t respond. 

“It went well, at least,” Thomas said, not sure what he was after, really, but not liking the silence that hung like a cloud over James. 

This was met with a silent nod of his head. 

“I think Silver’s going to stay,” Thomas said, voice neutral, but knowing he was going to get a reaction. It was better than waiting for James to bring up what was clearly bothering him on his own. “I’m not sure he will even want to leave after the battle, did you see how invested he seemed?” 

“He says so now,” James said, lip curling into a sneer. 

“He sees the merits of staying,” Thomas said, hoping his reasonable tone might hold James’ temper in check a little longer, so he could understand what his real issue was. “He understands that Rogers must be removed, at least.”

James scoffed and looked away, out of the dark window behind his desk. 

Thomas tried not to sigh. “You cannot tell me that you don’t see the merit of having him here. Every man on our side makes a difference, but one with John’s abilities?”

James turned to give him a hard look. “John’s abilities are not something I need explaining to me.” 

“I know it will take time to trust him, but-”

“I will not wait for him to decide to abandon us again,” James snapped. “After this fight, he will leave.” 

“You’re going to cement John Silver’s legend and then make him leave?” 

“Once the men see we have victory, we won’t need his name anymore. Or we’ll build a new name for them to follow; it can be Vane if he takes the fort, they will fall in behind him.”

Thomas shook his head. “John is important in this fight, I think it would be prudent for you to ask him to stay.” 

James’ eyes narrowed as he looked at him. “Why does this matter to you? Whatever passed between you, it cannot have blinded you to the danger he poses.” 

“He is my friend,” Thomas said. “I understand that he hurt you, but-”

“And when he’s gone,” James asked, getting to his feet in apparent agitation, “when I ask him to leave, what will that mean to you?” 

“If you have something you want to know, James, please ask it,” Thomas said, trying not to let his irritation show. “I don’t like guessing.” 

“I’m asking what you will do if I make him leave even if he decides he wants to stay.” James’ face was hard, eyes narrowed as he searched Thomas’ face. 

He shook his head, feeling almost sad. “You mean to test me,” he said, voice dropping in understanding. “My regard for John tested against my love for you. But, that’s not how this works, James. If you mean to kill him, I owe him enough to intervene, even if it went against your wishes. But my not wanting you to send him away, that is not about my feelings for him, but for _you_. It would hurt _you_. And I see no reason for it.”

James shook his head. “You don’t know anything about it.” 

“I know enough.” They glared at each other for a beat before Thomas could stand it no longer. He let out a breath. “I will not go against your wishes, James. I am on your ship. You are the captain. But we were partners once, and partners _listen_ to each others’ counsel. I am telling you that John is important. To you. To the men. To the war. Pushing him away is not going to help. It’s going to _hurt_.” 

“Then doing it sooner is preferable,” James said, but the fight was clearly gone. Now he just looked tired. He sat back down in his chair, looking away again. 

Thomas let it go. He’d said his piece and James had heard him, there was no use in a circular discussion that would fray their own relationship, which while not fragile, still felt so new and unexplored. Instead, he went to James and knelt at his feet. 

It took a moment but soon James turned his head to look at him and smiled, allowing his legs to be parted so Thomas could edge his way toward him, his hands sliding up James’ thighs as he went. 

“I should be the one to go and tell Mr Manderly the plan.” 

James raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I’ll take John and we can start to bring him towards our side.” 

This made James press his lips into a thin line, a little like he might smile or perhaps frown. It was a complicated expression and Thomas wondered at it for a moment. James had been so much more open, so much easier to read, when they’d been together in London. “You think Billy won’t be pleased to see me?” 

It was a joke, Thomas was sure, but one with some truth to it. “It is the best way for me to be useful. I suspect that I will not be so useful when the fighting starts.”

“You will be on the ship when it starts.” James's voice was firm, almost fierce. 

It wasn’t as though Thomas wanted to be in the middle of a battle and he knew full well he’d be less than useless. Still, the thought of it made him anxious. “It won’t sit easy with me, you out in such danger while I hide here.” 

“I wouldn’t be able to fight with you there,” he said, reaching down to cup Thomas’ face. “I cannot risk you.” 

Thomas smiled at the sincerity in James’ voice. “But next time,” Thomas said, “when I have had some time to learn, I want-” He shook his head. “I need to help, James.” 

“If we win,” James said, the first he’d shown any doubt on the matter, “there will be time for you to learn. I’ll be the judge on if you’re ready.” 

Thomas laughed, such future decisions seemed easy to put off with James so close to him. “Aye, Captain.” 

James’ smile was more genuine as he reached for him, pulled him up and into his lap and kissed him. 

***

John watched as Thomas steered the boat towards the beach. The row from _The Walrus_ hadn’t seemed to bother him at all. Perhaps John ought to make more of an effort to ensure he was able to keep up; he’d grown idle over the last few weeks with little danger to keep him active. 

It was strange, the two of them sneaking into Nassau together. It reminded him of before they’d come to _The Walrus_ and yet it couldn’t have been more different. The weight of the impending battle, of what they were trying to achieve, hung over them like a blanket. And Thomas seemed preoccupied in a way that wasn’t like when he lost himself while they were on the road together. John didn’t like the change in him. He’d made such progress when they’d been alone, coming back to himself, smiling and laughing more often. There was little cause for that here. That was the curse of Flint. He drew you to him, kept you close, because you believed in him and didn’t want to let him down. He swallowed you whole. 

He could feel it in himself already. That desperate need to please him that he’d felt since he first met him. He despised the feeling, how easily Flint could cast it - _him -_ aside. He knew it was different with Thomas, but that didn’t stop the anxiety clawing at him. He’d meant what he’d said when he agreed to stay: there was every chance that Flint was going to get him killed - for real this time. And yet neither of them seemed to have considered stopping, of just not going ahead with this insane plan. Not a single lesson seemed to have been learnt between them in the last ten years. 

“Tell me about Mr Manderly,” Thomas said, breaking the silence as they pulled the row-boat up the beach. 

He had a moment to miss the times when the questions between them were more frivolous. When Thomas would ask him about books he’d missed and John would make up stories to amuse them both to pass the time. He didn’t voice his thoughts, there was no point, just began to explain Billy - and his relationship with Flint - to Thomas. He didn’t miss anything out; Thomas needed the full picture. 

He pushed through the brief instinct to protect Flint by not mentioning Gates. Thomas flinched a little at the story, but didn’t comment. John didn’t relish being the one to deliver the blow. He would have been much happier imagining that Thomas and Flint lived happily together, never letting the past ten years touch them. Lived a life instead of dying a glorious death. He gritted his jaw and tried to shake the feeling off. He would be gone soon enough and all of this would be a distant memory. 

If Billy was surprised that John brought Thomas with him, he didn’t show it. He’d really grown into his leadership over the weeks John had been gone. 

“Mr Manderly,” Thomas said, holding out his hand to shake Billy’s. 

Billy gave John a sidelong look as he took Thomas’ hand. They were much more evenly matched in height than most men that Billy met. Thomas wasn’t as broad, but nonetheless it made for a more impressive entrance than many men. “Billy,” he corrected, although his voice was hard in a way that wasn’t entirely friendly. 

Thomas nodded his acknowledgement. “Thomas Smith.” 

Billy nodded his own greeting and motioned to a chair in the make-shift office he’d cobbled together in an abandoned house. 

“I assume you know what we’re planning?” Thomas began without preamble. 

Billy nodded. 

“And we can rely on your support?” 

Billy sat back, quiet for a moment. “I want to know what happens after.” 

“After?” Thomas raised an eyebrow. 

“He’s leaving,” he gestured with his head towards John. “My men have been waiting for him to come back, you’re here to ask me to rally them to his call and then he’s going to fuck off again. So, what happens after that?” 

“You have concerns about keeping the men under control without Mr Silver here?” 

John almost smiled despite the pit opening up in his stomach at the talk of his leaving. He couldn’t say why it made him anxious even as he clung to the idea like a life raft. Perhaps his concern was the same as Billy’s; there was so much uncertainty, so many lives hanging in the balance that he wouldn’t be able to save. Perhaps it was just the thought that it wouldn’t be long before he didn’t matter at all. Before everyone currently so keen for him to stay would likely not think of him at all within a month. 

“It’s Flint that I have concerns about,” Billy said, leaning forward, as though keen that his meaning was not missed. “I don’t trust him not to turn this into his next personal crusade. I want safety for my men. I’m not leading them blindly into something when I don’t know what to expect once it’s done.”

John shifted in his seat, anxious suddenly to cut in. Not to defend Flint, exactly, God knew it was too late for that as far as Billy was concerned. But to protect him from Thomas’ view. He didn’t like the idea of Thomas’ seeing Billy’s clear disdain for Flint. The idea that Thomas might see what Flint had become through Billy’s eyes sat poorly with him. 

But Thomas simply nodded once, pursing his lips. “I think we should leave aside matters upon which we shall never agree.” 

“That’s a big fucking matter for you not to want to discuss.” Billy’s blank stare was actually pretty impressive. 

Thomas just smiled thinly. “I am happy to talk about whichever matters you most wish to speak of.”

“Is that so?” Billy cocked his head to the side, surprised, but not willing to be so easily brought in as he might have been once.

Thomas spread his hands over the table in front of him. John watched his long, elegant fingers as they spread out over the wood. “I have had an eventful ten years, all told, but none of what happened to me was what one might call intellectually stimulating.” 

Billy stared at him incredulously, his eyes flicking to John and back, and John bit down hard on a smile. ”Intellectually stimulating.” 

“I find that I've missed the chance to debate so much, that the subject hardly matters anymore.” Thomas shrugged. “So, yes, _Billy,_ whatever you wish. However, I believe you place a premium on your time and so perhaps we should stick to those subjects where progress is more likely?” 

Billy crossed his arms over his chest and levelled a long stare at Thomas. It was a good stare, one that Billy had improved greatly over the recent months. Thomas was unmoved. 

“You will guarantee that you will hold Flint to agreements that are reached in this room,” Billy said in the end. 

Thomas nodded. “There are matters for which I am unable to speak for the captain, but I will make those clear.” 

“Matters?”

“He is his own person but-”

“That’s not what people are saying.” Billy leant forward again. “People are saying that you appeared and suddenly he’s allowing other people to dictate his actions to him.” 

John knew it was bullshit. No one was saying anything of the sort. There hadn’t been time. _Billy_ might be thinking it, but more likely, this was a threat to start a new narrative. This time it was Thomas who levelled a long stare. Billy didn’t shift in his seat, but John could see that it was a struggle for him not to. “I will make matters that I am not able to make full agreement on clear.” 

There was a pause, but it was clear now that it was just for effect. Thomas would get his way and Silver needn’t have worried at all. Thomas’ face was impassive, but somehow John knew that the other man knew he’d succeeded. 

They left two hours’ later with Billy’s assurances that they would have his support for the initial battle and perhaps beyond, as long as Vane could be relied on to keep Flint in check. John felt exhilarated, a strange fondness for Thomas blossoming in his chest. He threw an arm around his shoulder as they walked. It made Thomas stoop to accommodate their differing heights. John grinned, his gait making him swing into Thomas’ personal space as they walked. “That was almost impressive.” 

“Almost?” 

“Billy Bones hates Flint but he’s also a reasonable man,” John said, not wanting to underplay the task ahead. “But this is a good start. If we can keep him onside then there’s a good chance we can hold Nassau even if we can’t kill Rogers outright.” 

“Yes,” Thomas agreed thoughtfully. “It's a pity; I would have liked to have met the Governor.”

“That would be a terrible idea.” John knew Thomas knew this, but it bore reiterating. 

Thomas shrugged. “I want to meet the man that thinks he can finish my plan without the most important element of it.” 

“You?” John asked, making Thomas laugh loudly. 

“You flatter me any more, John, and I shall start to suspect you want something from me.” 

The comment made John almost want to flush. He rolled his eyes, shoving Thomas away from him playfully instead. “What was it then?” 

Thomas looked at him, almost quizzically, like he couldn’t believe he didn’t already know. “A sense of mercy.” He frowned. “My plan was never to conquer. That defeats the purpose. I wanted to free Nassau, give every person here a stake in its future. Men like Rogers, they don’t see anyone outside of their narrow view of society as worthwhile. He doesn’t believe in them, their power to create. I do. We’re going to free this island of tyranny and hand it back to the people who need it as much as it needs them. That’s how we create a future.”

John looked at him for a long moment. “Jesus,” he said, grinning suddenly. “That’s where he gets it.” 

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Yes, John, I know you don’t have the same outlook as James and I.” He turned his head. “Or, rather, it suits you to pretend you don’t.” 

John didn’t bother to answer that, there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t be at least a little incriminating. 

***

Thomas didn’t watch them leave. James had kissed his forehead before he left, once, gently, his hand ghosting along Thomas’ cheek for a moment before he pulled back as he prepared for the day ahead. There were no words that would prepare him for their parting. So Thomas had gone to wish John well before the sun rose instead of lingering. 

His heart felt like a stone as he watched their boats move silently away from _The Walrus._ They had their orders: hold the line, stop any ships that tried to make a break for it. There was danger enough in that, Thomas knew. But he couldn’t shake his feeling of dread, the feeling that the island that was just starting to be illuminated by the rising sun was somehow a graveyard, waiting to claim them all. 

James was an excellent fighter. An even better strategist, Thomas knew, even without John’s reminder of it that morning. But Rogers was a formidable man, and there was no accounting for terrible luck. There was a chance, perhaps even a good one, that this was the last time he would ever see James again. Some part of him rebelled at the idea. Refused to believe it. Fate would never be so cruel as to reunite them only to part them again so soon. But there was the doubt. His future was a grey blur, dread clouding any clear sight of what it would bring.

DeGroot was glaring out at the departing boats at his side. Thomas turned to him, when he was sure that his emotions were clearly hidden. He needed distraction, he needed work. He’d grown accustomed to hard manual labour at the plantation, found his body growing impatient if he was idle for too long. 

“Is there something that I can do?” Given more time, given less dire circumstances, Thomas might have worked harder to hide his complete lack of knowledge about how to run a ship. “I can do anything, I’m used to hard work, and I want to be of help.”

DeGroot gave him a supremely unimpressed look. “You look like you’d be more use with the books than scrubbing the decks,” he said. 

Thomas acknowledged that with a tilt of his head. “Perhaps,” he said. “If that’s what’s needed, I can do that. But I’m strong and a very fast study.”

He sighed, but called out, “Tyson, get over here. I got a new guy for you. Put him to work, would you, and keep him out of my way for the next few hours.”

Thomas almost sagged in relief as a stocky man appeared at their sides. He eyed Thomas a little less doubtfully than DeGroot, but it wasn’t exactly a warm welcome either. He was sure word of his presence on the ship was probably the topic of some discussion. It was really time that he became better acquainted with the men on James’ crew, outside of John's careful watch. It had just been so hard at first to remember that anyone else existed when James was near him. Hard to even really remember the reason they were here at all. Besides, it was easy to tell himself that he had so much to catch up on, so much to learn about what James had been creating over the last ten years. He needed to understand it if he was going to help. But that didn’t mean he didn't need to get to know his men too. He was going to have to make his mark on the crew as fast as possible. He was never going to be able to replace John, but he could at least be useful. And that started with a better understanding of how a ship worked. 

He was used to being ordered about, at least, was used to not asking questions unless it was absolutely needed. He followed instructions with ease, found the work physically hard, but nothing more so than a day in the fields had been. The men hardly interacted with him as he was set to work. That suited him. He suspected they were similarly nervous; their friends were in battle too. They themselves were prepared for one. A silence hung over the ship that didn’t feel entirely natural. 

The sounds of gun fire started not soon after Thomas began work. He stood, staring uselessly back towards shore, unable to see anything at all. There was shouting, distant, perhaps even imagined. He didn’t move until DeGroot stomped by and glared him back into work. Then cannon fire, short bursts that seemed almost impossibly loud even from this distance, started not long after. It was the fort, Thomas was almost sure. He went over the plans of the battle again, tried to calculate how many men they might be facing. How big their army was in comparison. He looked briefly at the sun. James should be at the square by now. Billy’s men were either there, riding in to provide the necessary support, or not. James was either dead. Or not. There was no way of truly knowing and his stomach roiled unhappily. 

He wondered, briefly, what he would do if James never returned. Perhaps he might just walk into the sea. Join him and Miranda. He shook his head, flexed his hand on the rope he was gripping. It didn’t do him good to dwell. He hadn’t had these thoughts since Bedlam. He couldn’t lose himself now. He needed to hold on for James. To trust in him. And John. They were together, would protect each other, even if they weren’t seeing quite eye to eye yet. 

By dark he had been working for hours. Had barely eaten, drunk only when offered water. His body was crying out for rest, but his mind continued to spin. Nassau had been quiet for hours. Images of the remains of James’ army being rounded up and hung floated, startling real, before his eyes whenever he stopped even for a moment. 

He almost didn’t hear the shout when it finally came. 

Then DeGroot was rounding the corner of the deck and glaring at him. “What are you still doing? Flint wants us all on land.” There was something that might almost be the start of a smile on his lips. “We’ve got some celebrating to do.” 

Thomas' knees nearly gave out under him, he swayed in place, hand going out to touch the wood of the deck. He bowed his head for a moment, taking in great lungfuls of air like he hadn’t breathed in hours. Suddenly he could smell the salt of the water, the rich tones of the wood, the truly awful smell of men that had been toiling in the sun all day.

He looked up and smiled. Then looked down at himself. “I might need to wash first.” 

DeGroot gave him another look that suggested that he’d just ruined any esteem he might have earned himself over the day with that comment. Somehow Thomas found he couldn’t care in the slightest. 

***

A victory. 

It seemed a long time since James had found one quite so satisfying. He looked around at the men, all apparently finding there own satisfaction in the moment, and allowed himself a small fraction of the feeling. It seemed rare that a plan worked exactly as it was supposed to. The word had gone out that Long John Silver was coming and by the time they met the last of the redcoats in the town square, reinforcements were already flocking to them. John had played the part so well that James hardly remembered himself that the man didn’t actually want to be there, had no belief in their cause. Still, it was satisfying to run the leader of the redcoats through, he'd cut a bloody path to him, focused entirely on his desire to get to him. They met on the hastily erected gallows that he’d been presiding over, killing pirates with immunity. But no loner. James had paused before finishing him, looking to John so all could see - as the narrative demanded - that this was Long John Silver reaping his revenge, even if he didn’t personally strike the blow. 

After that it was a matter of trying to reign the men back in. Normality - or what passed for it on Nassau - was needed as quickly as possible. James and Silver, along with Billy did their best to ensure there was at least the semblance of order as the men took back what had previously been ‘theirs’. There was going to be a period of extreme confusion where everyone tried to grab as much power as possible. Thankfully with Vane in the Fort and Silver and he united at least in name, there was little chance of anyone else taking over. Some level of equality would be needed among the pirates, but not until the old power structures were back in place. 

They needed a council. They needed Max back in charge of the tavern and running Eleanor’s old operations as quickly as possible. Billy had been sent to find her and ensure that his men were behaving themselves. He would need to stay on the island to keep their control even when James couldn't be there. But all of that was for tomorrow. Tonight he could allow himself some sense of achievement. They’d lost Rogers in the chaos, Eleanor too, but they had the island. He could relax, 

He looked up as the door to the tavern opened and Thomas entered, closely followed by the few men that could be spared from _The Walrus_. James’ heart leapt in his chest, the panic that he’d not quite managed to keep at bay quieting at the sight of him. He’d known that he was the safest of them all, but it was the first time he’d been so far away since they'd been reunited. The first time he'd been too far away for James to protect him. 

But he looked totally unharmed, if a little the worse for wear; his eyes searched frantically about the room, and James could clearly see how the day of waiting had weighed on him. He soon found James and his face transformed. He smiled, huge and delighted, eyes dancing with pleasure. They met in the middle of the room, managing to stop two paces from each other and not reach out, although they swayed towards one another anyway. 

“James,” Thomas sounded breathless, excited and so relieved that it was like it was radiating out from him. “You’re never leaving me behind like that again.” 

He laughed. “Rough day?” 

Thomas looked a little chastised at that. “Granted, nothing compared to yours,” he smiled, bright and happy and James’ heart filled again. It felt different, immeasurably more fulfilling, to have Thomas’ approval of his actions. His uncomplicated joy at the task achieved, and James alive at the end of it, made his chest tight with pleasure. There had been a part of him that wondered how Thomas would feel about the reality of battle, seeing the aftermath wasn’t the same as being in one, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t change his opinion on whether they were doing the right thing. But there seemed nothing of that nature in his expression.

“You did it,” Thomas said, pleased and just slightly wondering. 

James grinned, hoping he wasn’t preening too obviously. “I had some help.” 

“The fort?” 

“Ours.” He couldn’t seem to stop smiling. 

“The Governor?” 

“Fled.” Thomas' expression darkened a little at that, as James’ had when Vane had sent word of it. “The Ranger is in pursuit, but without Vane on board, I don’t hold out much hope of his capture.” 

Thomas’ expression was pinched with concern for only a moment before he was back to smiling and waving his hand. “A problem for another day.” 

James’ own concern faded with Thomas’ apparent lack of it. “And now we’re celebrating?” he asked, taking a step closer and turning so he could look about the tavern. It was heaving with men, most already well on their way to drunk. 

“I thought it fitting,” James said. 

“A magnanimous decision of a wiser leader,” Thomas said, bumping his shoulder into James’, making some of the tension he was still carrying begin to drain away. With him so close, it was almost as though the horrors of the day were beginning to fade. Almost as though he hadn’t thought, for a moment that stretched out almost infinitely, that he was going to die at the hands of Rogers’ men until Billy had arrived. He’d found himself grateful, at that moment, that Silver was at his side. It had felt less lonely. Although now he cursed that he’d felt that. Having someone that didn’t care for him there was hardly a less lonely death. 

Silver, he was forced to admit, had played his part brilliantly, apparently having gained considerable horsemanship over the weeks he’d been gone. His fighting style still lacked finesse, but it was undeniably effective. And his effect on the men was something else entirely. They had rallied to him in such a way that James wouldn’t have believed it had he not seen it. 

Then, as though he sensed James thinking about him, he appeared through the press of men, walking towards them with a smile. 

"Thomas!” he said, as he clasped his hand to Thomas’ arm in greeting. James' eyes went to the hand where it rested, tanned fingers stark against the white of the fabric. He couldn’t seem to look away. There had been none of this easy affection between him and Silver before he left. Not that he would have welcomed it, but it was strange to see it, offered and accepted so freely now. 

“John,” Thomas beamed. “I’m glad to see you still breathing.” 

Silver waved him off. “Been on the ship worrying yourself into an early grave like some old woman?” 

James tensed at the implication but Thomas just laughed. “I’ll have you know that I was put to good use today.” He made a face. “Although, I’m now quite convinced that most of the jobs were completely unnecessary and the men were having fun with me.” 

John laughed heartily. “Ah, that just means they like you. Come,” he said, “buy me a drink and I’ll catch you up and everything Flint has left out of the telling.” 

Thomas turned, perhaps to deny him, but James waved him off. He would have Thomas mingle. They would have enough time once they were back aboard _The Walrus_. They could have an hour now, while he made the final arrangements with Vane and Rackham, and then they would head back. He watched Thomas being absorbed into a group of men, all laughing and catcalling, with a smile before he turned and made his exit. 

He was gone longer than intended. Fully over two hours, he reckoned. His hands were itching with the need to see Thomas. To check that he was still safe. The danger was passed, he was fairly sure, but Nassau was never what you might call safe. 

Silver was outside the tavern when he arrived back with some of the men, laughing and playing at some game. Flint nodded at them as he passed and Silver watched him steadily. 

“Are we heading back to the ship?” 

He nodded. “I’ll fetch Thomas,” he confirmed, hardly slowing his steps as he walked by. 

The tavern was louder than when he’d left, though fewer men were still standing. Many seemed to have lost the battle with alcohol and exhaustion and were slumped in their chairs. He spotted Thomas easily enough, sitting alone at a table. 

“There you are,” he said, voice low and intimate, as he approached. Thomas clearly didn’t hear and so he bent low to catch his eye. “Come on, we should leave before the sun starts to rise and none of us sleep at all.” 

When Thomas still didn’t react a shiver of apprehension passed through him. “Thomas?” He crouched down, trying to make eye contact to get his attention. But when he was at eye level he realised that Thomas simply wasn’t there. He was awake, that much was clear, his eyes were open and he was breathing steadily. But there was nothing behind his eyes. 

There was something terribly wrong. 

Terror clutched at him as he stared at Thomas, unnaturally still and eyes unfocused. The blankness in his eyes opened something yawning and awful in James’ chest, making him take a stumbling step back. He’d seen this before. He thought of Randall for a terrifying moment. Of others that had seen things that no man should and never came back from it. He tried to move but found his feet rooted to the spot. 

_Something was wrong with Thomas._

It had been too good to be true, to expect the day to be so good. Those things simply didn’t happen to him. Not anymore. This has been too good to be true from the start. Thomas was going to be delivered back to him only to be snatched away in the cruellest way imaginable. He was a fool and now everything was going to come crashing down around him. He was going to lose him and there was nothing he could do. There was no enemy to fight. He was helpless. 

“What’s happening?” Silver was at his side, voice irritable. “I thought we were-” He cut off, obviously spotting Thomas. “Fuck.” 

James startled as Silver pushed by him, watching the other man with confusion as he dropped down awkwardly bringing himself to Thomas’ eye line. “Thomas,” he said, voice gentle. 

“His not answering,” James said, redundantly, his voice hard with rage that had no outlet. He wanted to move, to yank Silver away but his hands didn’t seem to be working. 

Silver didn’t acknowledge him. “Thomas,” he said, again. Then, softly, “Tom. It’s okay. You’re here.” He reached out, touched a hand to Thomas’, one of Silver’s tanned fingers stroking for a moment along Thomas’ slender ones. “You’re here and so am I. Look.” He tapped him again, once on the knuckles with his index finger.

Nothing happened for a long moment and James was about to rip Silver bodily away from Thomas when there was movement. Thomas blinked rapidly, eyes terrified before they met Silver’s. “John?” 

Silver nodded, shifting in place, perhaps aware of how closely he was being watched. “Yes. Do you need to ask?”

Thomas started to shake his head and then stopped. “I’m here.” It wasn’t a question but it wasn’t quite a statement either. 

“There we are,” Silver said, a smile forming. “That one wasn’t even bad. Come on.” He straightened, taking Thomas' eyes with him and there they found James. 

“Oh,” he said. An emotion passed over his face that James had never seen on it before. Shame. 

James’ chest was so tight that he could barely breathe for it. Fury coursed through him, white hot, for a long moment. “We need to leave,” he said, voice so low that he wasn’t sure either of the other men could hear him. He didn’t wait for them to follow, turning instead and leaving quickly. 

Silver found him hours later, alone on the deck of _The Walrus_. It was dark and were it not for the leg he might not have noticed his approach. “You should be asleep.” 

James didn’t acknowledge him or the words. That had been their agreement. Silver never kept to any agreements. But there was a long moment where he hoped, just for once, that Silver would get the fucking message and leave. 

“He won’t want to be alone.” 

He gripped the side of the ship to keep his hands still, to keep them going for Silver’s throat. “Don’t talk of him.” His words were low, a dangerous sign for anyone else. 

“I wouldn’t if you were doing your damn job and looking after him, I took him to your quarters for a reason. Have you checked on him? Or have you been out here brooding and blaming yourself for the fact his head is fucked up now?” 

The movement was unplanned and unexpected, but familiar even for that. Silver felt just the same pinned under his weight at the side of the boat as he always had. He met James’ eyes just as definitely. “He’s not-”

“He is,” Silver said, voice hard and unmovable. “What they did to him, you can’t ask him to come back the same. It does him a disservice. He got through it and is still standing, that’s better than any hundred men. You should be _proud_ not-” He gestured. “Not whatever this is.” 

James hands tightened in the fabric of Silver’s shirt, feeling the fabric strain under the tension. “You have _no right to-_ ”

“I was there,” Silver said back. Simple. Not a boast. Not an accusation. Just a statement of fact. “I was there when he started to come back to himself. We worked out a system. You can do the same. You _have_ to do the same. You wanted to protect him? This is how.”

James tried to let go, to step back, but found himself trapped. By his rage. By the unfairness of it. By the hold of Silver’s eyes. It was the truth of what Silver was saying that bothered him. He had been trying so hard not to remember how Silver so often saw the right of things. The right of people. It was infuriating, but why they had worked so well together. It made him furious and hopeless at once. “What they did to him, all those years, I-” 

“You didn’t come quick enough,” Silver finished. “It happened. Now you deal with the consequences. He’s still here, Flint, he just gets a little lost sometimes.”

“You don’t know anything about him.” 

Silver searched his face for a moment before shaking his head and huffing softly. “Is that what this is about? It’s beneath you, if so.” 

He was right. The fact that Silver knew it too made it all the more unsettling. He couldn’t help the way the rage in his chest twisted, snarling, to find any target that was in reach. But, he wasn’t jealous. Not really. It _was_ beneath him - beneath Thomas - to pretend so. He was furious with himself for not being there, for not stopping it, for allowing untold torment to continue unchallenged. He was horrified at the lingering effects. But he wasn’t jealous that Thomas had found comfort in the aftermath. Even if it was with Silver. He could admit that the man had his uses, that he understood people, that he would have been good for Thomas. He had been able to see that tonight, although he would have known it without the demonstration. He might even have been glad that it was Silver that found Thomas, if he could allow himself to be glad of anything about Silver. He shook his head, but took a step back. 

There was a long moment of silence. Perhaps Silver was waiting for him to speak again. “He doesn’t like to be alone,” Silver repeated when it became clear that James had nothing more to say. Then Silver stepped around him and away. 

James stayed only for a moment before dragging himself back inside, heading to his quarters. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Thomas said, as soon as he was through the door. He was standing in the middle of the room, like he might have been pacing. “I thought perhaps now-” He looked away. “It doesn’t happen often. Less and less, but the stress of the day and sometimes when it gets so noisy-” He was anxious, shifting from foot to foot, eyes not quite meeting James. 

James was across the room in a moment, taking both of Thomas’ fidgeting hands in his own, stilling them. “No,” he said, voice soft, “no, don’t apologise. _I’m_ sorry. I should have realised. I should have been there.” 

Thomas sighed. “I had hoped you wouldn’t need to see it.” He looked away. “I wanted it to have stopped, so you wouldn’t think this was another thing to blame yourself for, or that you needed to take care of.” 

A heavy weight settled on him at Thomas’ words, at his reaction being expected, at the thought that it had led to Thomas trying to hide part of himself. Another wound among the thousands that now lay between them. He wanted to find the words to explain, to show that it didn’t matter, but none came. 

“You’ve been through so much,” Thomas said, “and you’re still so…” He looked away. “You were always so strong. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you remained the strong one, but I had hoped to spare you seeing quite how far I’d fallen.” 

“Strong?” James breathed, incredulous. “Thomas, you can’t believe that. What happened, I turned myself into a _monster_. The things I’ve done... James McGraw was dead until I saw you in that clearing. Do you understand that? I was not strong. I was half-dead. But you, _you_ , have remained. You are the same. You didn’t need to be someone else to survive. I’m so… I'm _awed_ by you. I just wish that I had been stronger for you. Found you sooner, kept myself better for your return.”

There was a light, something like disbelief but also joy, in Thomas’ eyes when he finished, that made everything that had been tight and angry in James relax all at once. “John,” he started, darting a look at James to see how the name was received, “he told me, early on in our acquaintance, that there was no shame in surviving. That we all find our own ways to do it.”

Thomas couldn’t know how complicated those words, coming from Silver, were. He couldn’t know how twisted they became when applied to that man. But there was wisdom in them, too. He could see it. The paradox left him unable to reply. Instead he brought Thomas’ hands to his lips. Kissed them twice and smiled at him. “He called you Tom.” 

Thomas smiled in return, small but pleased. “He knows it annoys me, sometimes it’s enough to-” He shook his head. “I am sorry, James, I should have told you. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” he said, softly. “Now I know and I could…” He hesitated, suddenly uncertain that in this Thomas would want his help, unsure he had the right to even offer it. He swallowed. “I could help, next time. Silver says you have a method?” 

Thomas sighed. “I sometimes forget…” He trailed off, a look of fear crossing his face, but whether it was the memory or that he was sharing it with James that caused it, he wasn’t sure. Thomas took a breath and licked his lips, a nervous habit, before continuing. “Sometimes I need reminding of where I am. That I’m not still… You being there should be enough. Touch. That helps. Saying my name, they never-” He broke off, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence. 

“Okay,” James said, voice only catching slightly on the grief that was welling up in him. “I can do that.” He pulled Thomas to him, wrapping his arms tightly around him. “Okay,” he repeated. “You’re okay.” 

Thomas melted into his arms, gripping him tightly. They would need to talk about it. About everything that had happened while they’d been apart. The thought filled him with indistinct terror, but he would do it. For Thomas, he would share it and let Thomas do the same. He couldn’t let Thomas be alone in his fear and pain and that meant sharing his own. He swallowed passed the terror and gripped him tight and let Thomas hold him in return.

_TBC_


	4. Chapter 4

And then, just like that, it was business as usual. Strange, how fast it all fell into place once the pirates were in charge of Nassau again. With Flint, Vane and Billy united in restoring the island, there was no force able to deny them. Especially not once Max was back running the small empire she'd apparently gathered. 

She had survived the battle for Nassau and although she was outwardly furious at the upheaval, at the loss of life, she went right back to work. She was not sorry to see Rogers and his men leave, but she was no fan of Vane or Flint. John she seemed to tolerate, perhaps because of their previous partnership. He still sometimes wondered at that, at what might have happened had they just left together. They would have made a good pair. Brilliant, most likely. But she would never have found Bonny and he would likely have grown restless too soon for any roots to really take. Besides, she was the force that the island truly needed. She wielded her power with grace and subtly that the men surrounding her lacked. He wondered what Thomas might make of her. What schemes they would concoct. He made a mental note to ensure they were introduced at the next available opportunity. 

With Nassau back in the hands of pirates, he was nearing the time when he could take his leave. He just needed to ensure that Thomas was more deeply rooted in _The Walrus_ crew. To do that, they would need to return to some sense of normalcy; they needed to set sail and claim a prize. Flint was using his share of the treasure to pay the men, but that wasn’t going to last forever. And even if it did, leaving the men idle for too long was going to cause problems. Claiming a ship was also the perfect way to show Thomas what being a pirate really meant. 

He brought the idea to Flint and they were at sea within a couple of days. He thought it would help, being away from Nassau, moving the second part of his promise forward. But all it did was give him time to think. 

Mostly he thought about leaving. It was like a compulsion. At night he lay in his hammock and planned how he would leave - how he'd sneak off the ship, or how he'd say goodbye to the men, or where he'd go. And then in the morning he… didn’t do it. There was always some reason: something to teach Thomas, some issue with the crew to sort out, an argument with Flint he needed to win. But none of those reasons were why he stayed. he stayed because he was selfish and he wanted another day with the crew. Another day of being somewhere he was wanted. Another day near Thomas, God Damn him, near _Flint._

It was remarkable how much both men had changed since being reunited and yet stayed almost exactly the same. Flint was still short with everyone, still focused to an almost alarming degree. But John could see the changes. Perhaps because he’d seen them in Flint’s behaviour towards him just before he’d left. Of course it was more extreme with Thomas, but the resemblance made John’s chest tight. Made him want to run and get closer at the same time. John had seen him smile more in the last two weeks than all the time before combined. That hurt too, in the most unexpected ways. 

He waited for it to fade, or maybe to resolve itself into something else like resentment or anger. He expected everyday to wake up and feel differently. He expected for it not to matter that Flint was now forever out of his reach. That Thomas was never in it. He expected to open his eyes and for the dull, heavy sensation in his chest to have shifted. He went about his day but found himself stopping, unexpectedly, to check it, like prodding at a painful tooth to check that it still hurt. But it was always still there. It wasn’t like the phantom ache of his leg, not exactly. But there were similarities; there was a melancholy to both feelings, a loss that weighed him down with every step. 

Perhaps if he didn't have to see the evidence of it everyday. Although he now wasn’t sure that leaving would help. It felt like the sort of pain that didn’t fade with time. Perhaps the wound was infected because he hadn’t been tending to it; he was wallowing in it if anything. So he went back and forth on the best option. Cutting it off by leaving or tending to it, try to turn the pain into something else by staying longer and having a chance to better make a clean break. He couldn’t make a decision, so he lingered, held in limbo, waiting for some sign of what he ought to do. It left him irritable with himself, and the whole mess he’d found himself in, when he let himself think about it. 

He knew that Thomas and Flint were waiting for him to leave. Which made sense, but somehow only added to his rising frustration with himself for not just doing it. 

“Good morning, John, good to see you,” Thomas said, every morning without fail. Perhaps no one else would know the implication sitting under the simple greeting but to John it was plain as day. Thomas expected John to be gone - like he might swim away in the dead of the night or leap to a passing ship. Every morning he knew the greeting was coming and held himself tight as Thomas approached, a smile on his face. John tried not to be annoyed by it. He tried and failed. 

He’d cycled through responses, from amusement, to annoyance, to plain ignoring him, but Thomas was not deterred so easily. The implication hung between them everyday and John started to suspect that Thomas was actually hoping he was gone. God knew that John had likely outstayed his welcome with him now that he was back with Flint. Eventually he gave into his desire to snap, “Sorry to disappoint, my lord. But yes, I’m still here.” 

Thomas cocked his head to the side. “It’s not a disappointment, John,” he said. “It’s appreciation. I’m aware there are a limited number of opportunities for me to say good morning to you. I’m taking advantage of it while I’m still able.”

John looked away, irritation hot and heavy in his chest. He hated platitudes. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Thomas meant it, or believed that he meant it at least. John had value to him, after all, he was helping him integrate into the ship. He was keeping the crew, and Nassau, united. But the way that regard never managed to shift to John, the man, was frustrating. _He_ could see the difference and was keenly aware of it but wasn’t sure anyone else ever really did. He nodded his head just once. “Good for you.” And then, because he was tired of pretending that it didn’t matter, added, “It’s just a shame the sentiment isn’t shared across all of the crew.” 

Thomas smiled a little too triumphantly. “You mean it isn’t shared by James.” 

John didn’t answer. There was no point, the rest of the crew had made it very clear that they seemed to want John there. 

The silence didn’t last. “You know he never talks about you?” 

John very carefully kept his face neutral, but marvelled at how the words still managed to land such a heavy blow. It wasn’t new information that he no longer mattered to Flint, if he ever had. It shouldn’t matter to him, and he hated that it did. “Thank you for this new and scintillating piece of information that I never asked to know.” 

“He talks about a lot of things,” Thomas said, ignoring John entirely. “The ship’s course. The supplies. Books he’s read since I’ve been gone. Places he’s been. The crew, of course. DeGroot. Vane. Rackham. Even Eleanor.”

“Is there a point or am I going to be forced to listen to you recount every conversation you’ve had with him since your return?”

Thomas smiled, this time a little sadder. “ _But,_ ” he continued, a slight reprimand in the word, “there are things he doesn’t talk about. A multitude of them. Deeds he’s been forced to carry out. Terrible decisions that still haunt him. My wife, for example.” Thomas stepped closer. “And _you_.” 

John turned his head in surprise at his tone and implication. 

“There are so many things that James can no longer bear to think of, to talk about.” He gave John a long, hard stare. “So, every morning I pass along the sentiment that I’m glad to see you. For myself and for James because that means there’s still a chance for you both to stop whatever ridiculous story you’ve told yourselves that is preventing you from working together as you once did.” 

John felt pinned by the words, his heart - foolish, treacherous thing that it was - beating hard in his chest. Thomas was wrong, surely. There were a multitude of reasons that Flint didn’t speak of him, most likely of which was that he simply found the subject too frustrating. He knew Thomas held him in some regard, perhaps he simply didn’t want to fight with his newly-returned-from-the-dead lover. “That’s a very lovely story, Thomas,” he said, keeping his voice as flat as he could make it. “But, I’m not sure why you would think I care to hear it.” 

“Because I don’t think you want to be another thing he can’t talk about.” 

John swallowed passed the lump in his throat. To be another ghost that haunted Flint. It didn’t seem possible. “He has you,” he managed, “he’ll be fine.” 

“That’s not how it works and you know it. What he and I have is very different.” 

“Yes, I’m well aware of that,” he snapped, and then felt immediately frustrated that he’d let his emotions show so obviously. 

Thomas softened a little at it, though. “But that doesn’t mean what you and he had - could _have_ \- isn’t important. Isn’t vital to his happiness.” 

John shook his head. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.” 

“Yes you do.” There was a pause and with the next words, Thomas sounded almost uncertain. “What do you suppose would have happened? If James had never come for us? What might we have become?”

“Could we have found some happiness with the ghost of the same man haunting us?” John asked, a sour smile pulling ah his lips. Thomas Blinked at him in surprise. “What? Did you think I wasn’t going to mention it?” 

Thomas shrugged. “Well? Might we have, do you think? Been happy?”

He forced himself to hold Thomas' eye, jaw tight. “For a measure of happy.” 

“And now? With him here, what might we be?” 

John didn’t know. He wasn’t sure where that left him. What he was left _with_. Who he was now, without this ship, without his crew and the name he’d moulded himself into. What was he without the first true friend he’d ever had? What was he without fucking Flint? He wasn’t sure that he liked himself as it stood, but without those things... He wasn’t sure he wanted to be around that man. He looked away. 

“Okay,” Thomas said, although he was doing a very bad job of hiding the hurt in his voice. “And what if I hadn’t come back? What if you’d stayed here with James, what might the two of you become?” 

“Don’t,” John said, voice sharp. “You didn’t know him then. It’s not… just don’t.” 

There was a long, tense silence and then Thomas nodded. “Well,” he said, voice back to normal. “I just wanted to pass along my regards, John. I’ll see you later.” 

He watched him as he left, feeling wretched and lonely. He’d never much considered lonely a state he was capable of feeling. He’d been alone for almost his entire life. He’d designed his life to accommodate that very thing. But looking at Thomas as he stopped to speak to the others, he couldn’t help but think of his actions after leaving. He’d untangled himself from Madi, from Flint and the first thing he did? Tied himself to another person, binding their fates together in a way that he hadn’t had to. 

After everything that had happened, John wasn't sure he was built to be alone anymore. 

The fucking leg, that was the problem. He had little choice but to rely on others, just as he became infinitely less useful for them. He had thought, with Thomas, that perhaps there was a possibility of true, equal partnership. But now, knowing that Thomas had likely been measuring him against Flint the entire time, he realised how incredibly stupid he’d been. Thomas might have been thinking of kissing him once, but that was at his lowest moment. Desperation after being alone for ten years. Even a one legged monster had probably seemed appealing after that. But now, with Flint here? It was impossible. John could stay and follow these men around, hoping for scraps, or he could leave. Try to lead a life he was now sure he wasn’t capable of living. 

He was trapped with only terrible options on all sides. 

****

James was brooding. Thomas watched him from across his quarters, his book held aloft but unable to hold his attention. He'd spent a lot of time staring at him since his return. He’d found himself unable to look away in the days after their reunion. He felt like a man dying of thirst, finally being able to drink. He wanted to know every change in his face. Relearn his every expression. Learn the new ones. Thomas was a very quick study and so he knew exactly what James was thinking about now.

There were any number of reasons for the look on his face. It wasn’t like there weren’t a multitude of problems facing them. But, somehow, he knew that expression was reserved for John. James had spent a great deal of time pretending that he did not think about John at all. But he’d seen them. The way they danced so delicately around one another. It was only possible by being very intimately aware of another person. They had taken ignoring each other so seriously somehow it had looped around into being entirely focused on the other. It would be amusing if his heart didn't break a little for them. 

He’d known there was something the moment John had talked about Flint. That there was more than the casual regard for a captain, even one that he might have called a friend. He was unsurprised to find the feeling returned by James. He could understand why James felt it; John was a likeable man, clever and quick-witted. There was mischief in him too, in the sparkle in his eyes, and the way he approached life like a great game. Something about him had put Thomas in mind of Miranda almost instantly, though it was an indescribable quality that bound the two in his mind. 

He tried not to sigh as he always had to when his thoughts drifted inevitably back to Miranda. The weight of her death hung between James and him like a physical force. He missed her so keenly it was like a knife under his ribs. But at the same time, he barely dared to mention her. That she had died so soon before his return haunted him. It clearly haunted James too and he wasn’t sure either of them were ready to talk about it yet.

But that wasn’t what was currently consuming James. He was thinking about John. He wasn’t sure if it was his presence in and of itself that was vexing James, or the possibility of his leaving. Both, probably. It was frustrating to watch because James seemed to approach the matter like he had no power over the outcome. But Thomas could see clearly how John had come alive, truly began to thrive, once he was back among the men. He seemed to suddenly have a purpose and it lit him from the inside out. Whatever terror was forcing him to flee it was nearly evenly matched by his desire to stay. He just needed the final push. 

Miranda would tell him that he ought to leave them both to it, that you couldn’t force people to see anything they didn’t want to see. Which might be true but if Thomas was forced to watch them both mope about the ship much longer he was going to do something drastic. He put down his book. 

“You know,” Thomas said, “I’ve heard that reading is easier when you actually look at the paper.” 

James blinked, clearly coming back to himself abruptly. He smiled at him and made a great show of looking back down at whatever he was pretending to care about. 

“You know,” Thomas said. “John would be able to take care of some of that for you.” 

Or he could. He’d learnt a great deal since his arrival. James really didn't need to keep so much of running the ship in his own grasp. But that was a work in progress and really only tangential to what he wanted to talk about. 

James snorted. “Only men that care about the future of the ship should be entrusted with its proper running.” 

Thomas wondered if that was something Hennessey used to say to James. He ignored the usual stab of grief at the thought of their old life and stood up. “I think he cares. Hasn’t he nearly died enough times to prove that by now? From what I’ve heard, he gave up his leg to protect it.”

“He abandoned it soon enough when it suited him.” 

Thomas nodded, there was no arguing that point and it wasn’t as though he could truthfully promise John wouldn’t leave again. Nor did he want to suggest that James was at fault for not offering him a reason to stay. Especially when it was clear that he’d been preparing to do just that before John left. 

Instead he watched James, the deep frown, the tight set of his shoulders. There was much changed about him since London. He might have expected some of it. The way he’d wrapped his anger around himself like a shield. That he was colder. That he smiled less. Even the way he was hiding parts of himself from Thomas. Some he wouldn’t. Like that he had turned all his rage and pain into a physical manifestation in the form of Captain Flint. There was a story there, he was sure, though James seemed determined not to tell it. 

He was sure that James thought Flint and McGraw were separate. There was something heartbreaking about the way James had sought to protect the man he was from the horrors of his new life. But it was hopeful too, that perhaps James really had always intended to live a real life one day. Thomas hadn’t seen what Flint could do, hadn’t seen what it was that wrought such fear in men on and off the ship. Perhaps during this voyage he might catch more than a momentary glimpse of him. 

“Tell me what we’re going to do,” he said, when James seemed unable to focus but equally determined not to admit it. 

He looked at Thomas. “You’re asking for a lesson in piracy?” There was the beginning of a little teasing smile on James’ lips. 

Thomas’ heart squeezed in his chest. He’d forgotten, almost, the effect James had on him. How instantly he could lift his mood. How fierce and unyielding his love was. The feeling was intoxicating and all consuming. He’d missed it. He’d missed _him_ more than he’d thought possible. That it hadn’t faded, hadn’t diminished, was a miracle. 

He stood, walking slowly to the desk. He sat on the edge, nearly within James’ personal space, but not quite. “Yes,” he said, smiling himself, happy to be a distraction, if he could not fix the issue itself. “I would like to understand how to become a fearsome pirate and how you command the ship.” 

James watched him, his smile fond, for a long moment. “Would you?” 

“Yes,” Thomas said. “I’m sure you’re a very good teacher.” 

This earned him an eyebrow raise. “And how are you as a student?” 

“I had several very glowing reports from my professors at Oxford.” 

“Any practical experience?” 

“I’ve been held hostage on ships on more than one occasion. Does that count?” 

James laughed. 

****

The prize wasn’t hard to take in the end. James was nervous, more jumpy than he would have liked. The entire voyage had left him feeling jittery and on-edge. He felt as though he were balancing everything on a knife-edge. Having Thomas aboard now seemed strange, like a ghost from his past life hanging in the way of him being able to function like he had before. He was aware of him at every turn. He couldn’t seem to shake his need for Thomas’ approval; the idea that he might not approve of what he had done these ten years had plagued him whenever he let himself rest. And now he would know. 

Thomas might have agreed to stay to help finish what they had started in London, but that was simply not the same as agreeing to be a pirate. He’d never seen what that really entailed before. This was the true test. After this he might finally have met Flint and would need to decide if that was something he could live with. If he even survived it; the danger to their lives had never seemed so present before, but now seemed to lurk around every corner. 

There was no way he could control both outcomes. But that didn’t stop him from trying. He found himself trying to account for every detail, notice every change and account for every possibility. He couldn’t let himself relax even for a moment. It meant that a strange mood hung over the ship. Even his interactions with Thomas seemed more stilted than they’d ever been. Thomas seemed to accept the change without comment, but it added to James’ nerves about the situation. 

And he couldn’t relax. His vigilance was necessary even once their prize had surrendered without even token resistance. He knew better than to assume safety, even then; he’d seen crews turn and wouldn’t let anything happen this time. He needed to control every element of the process, keep track of every movement of both crews. There was no one else he could entrust it to. He held himself tight and focused, blocking out any distractions. 

Silver, at least, seemed keen to ensure the whole thing went as smoothly as possible as well. He kept a tight rein on the crew, barking orders a little more firmly than was his usual custom. James found himself grateful for it. While he might not be able to fully trust him, Silver still had his uses. 

He had been sure to arrange that Thomas be nowhere near the other ship by ensuring that he was engaged below deck. It had been something of a surprise to learn that he had acquired some basic knowledge of tending to wounds and other alignments while they’d been apart. But then Thomas had always been curious and that combined with his desire to help would have made it almost impossible for him not to want to help the other prisoners on the plantation. His turning these skills to help _The Walrus_ crew had certainly helped to ingratiate him. The rest of his time was spent learning about the running of a ship or looking over the accounts and other bookwork that James had left neglected of late. 

But Thomas’ true interests clearly lay in better understanding the life of a pirate ship; he asked an almost endless stream of questions. Not that it stopped with questions, Thomas couldn’t help but prod at the systems they had in place, wanting to test them and devise better alternatives. James tried to remain in good humour, but found himself growing defensive at the strangest of moments. He’d never snapped at Thomas before, never out of true annoyance, but it had happened twice already. Thomas had taken it with good grace, but it left James raw and nervous. Everything was moving too quickly and he had found no satisfactory way to deal with being both Flint and McGraw at once. 

Thomas had clearly not wanted to go once the other ship had been sighted, had been as curious about the process as he had about almost everything else. James had had to order him away, voice sharp and stare blank, before he moved. He hadn't enjoyed using his position as captain to force Thomas away, but he didn’t want him there for the capturing of the ship. Partly, mostly even, it was the danger that gave him pause, but it was more than that. Thomas might have seen true horror over the last ten years, but he had not seen it enacted by _him._ He was loath for Thomas to truly see Flint until it was absolutely necessary. Part of him hoped that he never would, although he knew that was foolish. 

The ship they were chasing surrendered almost immediately, once they showed the black, making it easy to get along its broadside and prepare to board. Which they were still doing several long minutes later. James stared at the ship, still so unknown, as it floated apparently innocuously in front of them. 

“The ship’s ours,” Silver said, coming to stand next to James on the poop deck. 

He nodded, squinting at the other ship, trying and failing to see it more clearly. 

“We should board,” Silver said. “Secure the men and-”

“Are you under the impression I’ve forgotten how to claim a prize?” His voice was hard, perhaps a little brittle sounding. 

Silver stiffened next to him. “No, but the order has been expected for some time and the men grow restless.” 

“I’m considering options,” he said, trying to take the emotion out of his voice. He didn’t want Silver to know anything was affecting him. He knew too much about James as it was, he didn’t need to give him any further leverage. 

“Like not claiming the prize and just sailing back to Nassau?” The sarcasm was heavy with frustration. 

James chose to ignore it. There was nothing to say; he needed to give the order. Silver would see the boarding was done efficiently and they could get on with getting the hell back to Nassau. Perhaps he would be able to breathe more easily there. “Go ahead,” he said, having to force the words out. This was the most dangerous time and some part of him was always expecting the worst possible outcome. His heart thudded dully in his chest. 

Silver paused as though he had something else to add but no words came. 

“What is it?” James snapped when the silence continued along with Silver’s presence. James had recently come to find himself uncomfortable in the other man’s company. He was almost impossible to ignore, but at the same time, there was nothing he wanted to say to him. The uncertainty of it left him irritable. 

“Nothing,” Silver said, pausing just long enough for it to be clear that there was indeed something but he’d chosen not to share it. 

“Get a move on,” he snapped, finally spurring Silver into movement. 

He watched as the men readied for boarding, waiting until they appeared ready, before descending to join them. The captain of the claimed ship was as docile as James could have hoped for. He barely resisted cowering in front of James as he boarded. He carried his sword out of its sheath, just to be safe. 

But there was no fight that he could see, the crew stood silent and obedient as the ship’s manifest was handed over. James scanned it. Nothing of great value, but enough that they would be left with a modest, but not unreasonable, profit. He nodded silently at the captain, and handed the manifest to Silver. He wasn’t needed for the rest and there was no need to appear overly concerned about such a simple task. He nodded silently to Silver and the other men before turning back to _The Walrus._ His part of playing the menacing pirate captain was done, the men could handle the more mundane reality of capturing ships. 

He went back to his quarters almost satisfied with how it had gone. Perhaps that was why it was some time before he was able to identify the feeling of _wrongness_ that had settled over him since returning. He didn’t know where Thomas was. He had expected him to immediately find James the moment word went out that the ship was taken and he was back aboard. The feeling was unsettling; he’d grown accustomed to knowing where he was nearly at all times. It hadn’t been intentional, not exactly, but the moment Thomas was out of his sight he became agitated and irritable until he was able to see him again. So unless he was asleep, he had been in James’ sights or within a very few steps of it. 

There was no need for concern, and certainly not the panic that rose in his chest. He was surely just below deck, perhaps attending to one of the men who never seemed short of ailments. Still, there was no harm in checking. He rose from his desk to conduct a brief search of the ship, his heart beating a hard, steady rhythm in his chest the longer he failed to find him. Surly nothing could have happened to him, but he couldn’t shake the worry that clung to him like a cloak.

A complete circuit later Thomas was nowhere to be found. His heart began to thud harder, his fear ticking up. After the second brisk walk around the ship, it became apparent that there was only one place he could be. 

He held himself still, forcibly stopping himself from going to the other ship. He couldn’t afford for anyone to notice his regard for Thomas. It was probably all too clear already, and making a scene - for he wasn’t sure he would be able to keep his temper in check if he did find him on the other ship - would not help. Instead he went back to his quarters. He tried to concentrate on his work, but nothing could distract him. He found himself staring off into middle-distance, straining to hear anything that might suggest trouble from the other crew: shouts of pain or fear, shots or the clash of metal upon metal. But nothing came, he couldn’t hear much of anything other than the usual running of the ship. It didn’t help to settle him.

He lasted as long as his body would allow him to sit in his seat before rising and walking the ship again. This time he saw Thomas the moment he left his quarters. He was carrying a chest, sweat beading on his forehead; this wasn’t his first trip back and forth. Anger rose in his chest like a tide. 

“Smith,” he called, tone sharp, cutting through the chatter of the men around him. “A word.” 

Thomas’ head snapped towards him. He looked perplexed, even at a distance, but he nodded his head in understanding. He looked down at the chest in his hands. 

“Now,” James said, not waiting to see what he would do before turning back the way he’d come. It felt strange to order Thomas around, the reversal of their roles since London sat poorly with him. For all that Thomas seemed to accept the need for James to lead it made him uncomfortable. He didn’t _want_ another crew member, he wanted a partner, someone to lean on for a change. But he no longer knew how to do that. He _had_ to be in control unless terrible things were to happen. He felt trapped, ready to lash out in frustration. 

He was pacing his quarters when the door opened a few moments later. He didn’t turn to check who it was before snapping, “What the hell was that?” 

Thomas paused, hand outstretched from closing the door. “What?” 

“You were aboard the other ship.” His heart had started racing again, his skin hot and too tight. He wanted to pace but held himself still, hands clasped at his sides. It was somehow worse, having Thomas close, the reality of how scared he’d been seemed to press in around him. 

“That’s right,” he said, words slow and careful, like he knew he was walking into a trap, but was unsure exactly what sort. 

“On whose orders?” 

“Yours?” Thomas’ face was pinched with confusion. “The ship was to be emptied as quickly as possible, I’m strong and it seemed sensible-”

“Sensible?” James snapped. “Sensible to board an enemy ship with no training? No idea how to even _hold_ a sword, let alone fight? What if something had happened?” 

“The crew were all in chains, I’m not sure what you think-”

“You were not to be a part of any battle,” James interrupted. He wanted to change the condescending tone he was using, but he couldn’t. He was too angry. How was it possible that Thomas could not see the danger, how could he put himself in its way with so little concern? “You cannot defend yourself. It was reckless.”

“James,” Thomas snapped, his cheeks now a little red, the first real sign that he was affected at all by James’ increasingly short temper. “That’s enough. There was no danger. If I am to be a part of this crew, then I’m going to contribute. I _must._ They cannot think of me as a liability or a drain. And I am hardly _defenceless_. What did you think I was doing the last ten years? Did you think that there was never any violence? That I never needed to defend myself? I might not be a skilled swordsman, but I can assure you, I know how to look after myself.” 

“That’s not the point!” James snapped, the past loomed suddenly, terrible and opaque, before he was able to brush it away. He felt crushed by it. He could not focus; the past, future and present all seemed too awful or uncertain to contemplate. He couldn’t _think_ , couldn’t plan. “I don’t want you involved in this. The life I live, I don’t want-” 

“What are you talking about?” Thomas took an angry step forward. “I _am_ involved. If I’m never allowed two steps out of your presence, I’m not sure how much more involved I can _be.”_

The words hit harder than a punch and James had to hold himself still so he didn’t reel back. “I’m sorry that my company is such a chore. I shall take your comments well under advisement.” 

Thomas sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, voice now back to mostly level. “But, James, do you think that I don’t already understand what you do? What this life is like? When I said I wanted to stay, I knew what that meant.”

James shook his head. This wasn’t what he wanted. Thomas didn’t belong in this place, it was only ever meant to be a temporary solution. A way to make some money, perhaps give England a swift kick before he was able to get Thomas back. He was never meant to be doing this ten years later, never when Thomas was here. He didn’t want to show him what he’d become and now it seemed inevitable that he would _see_ it. And then he would leave. The same way everyone else who had seen every part of him had. 

“You don’t understand it,” he said, his voice tight, but not quite so angry now. 

Thomas sighed. “Because you don’t want me to,” he said. “But, you can’t keep me always in your sights and also never allow me _in._ ” 

James felt his heart, heavy, so _heavy_ in his chest. “I am stifling you.” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“But it’s true.” 

Thomas’ lips thinned in obvious frustration. “You’re not listening to what I’m saying.” He took another step forward, but James turned a little, not wanting to let him get too close. He froze where he was but tried to catch James’ eye, looking pained. “I would never be parted from you if it were my choice. Please know that. But-”

James hung his head. “But.” 

“No,” he huffed. “James. Look at me.” James wrestled with himself for a moment before lifting his head. Thomas' face was open; he always seemed so open, never quite having learned that hiding your emotions was an advantage. “You want me here and I want to be here. But then, y _ou_ also don’t want me here. There’s…” He sighed. “There are two parts of you now, James. You don’t want me to see one of them. I understand that, better than you might imagine.” 

James looked away again. He didn’t want to talk about Flint. He wished he’d found some way to kill him before Thomas had arrived. 

Thomas sighed softly. “Although now I sometimes wonder if that was always the case.” James looked up in surprise, heart kicking up suddenly. Thomas wasn’t looking at him, instead staring at the floor with a crease in his forehead. “Those parts of yourself that you kept locked away. One of the regrets I had all those years was how little time we had.” 

“You knew me.” He flicked his eyes to Thomas, his voice tight. Surely Thomas didn’t believe what he was saying. No one had ever known James like he had, even Miranda. The thought that he was doubting that hurt. 

Thomas softened, his shoulders dropped and a small, sad smile tugged at his lips. “Yes,” he agreed. “I understand that you can’t share everything, now. But-”

“That _fucking word_.” James’ jaw tightened, anger flaring hot for a moment. 

Thomas looked at him for a moment, face calm despite James’ obvious annoyance. “You’re upset with me,” he said. “You’ve _been_ upset with me since I got back.” 

“No, I’m not.” James curled his hands into fists. There was something sharp in his chest trying to push its way out. He took a deep breath. He didn’t want to talk like this. It felt too precarious. They had talked little, even in London, about what they were, what their future was. There hadn’t been a need, when they were shaping the world. This felt dangerous. Bringing what they were into the light was risky. He wasn’t sure if they would survive it, not when he was bringing them into _this_ reality, aboard a pirate ship where life was brutal and short. He wanted to flinch away, but Thomas was watching him closely and so he didn’t move. 

“You _are_ and this is what I’m trying to say. Whenever I get too close to something - and I never know what that might be in advance - you withdraw. You become Flint.” 

“I’m not-” 

“I don’t mean it as a criticism.” 

James huffed, shaking his head. “Of course not,” he snapped, unable to keep his fear from boiling over into frustration. “The great Thomas would never criticise, never stoop so low as to make _moral_ judgement. But you will needle and push until it fits your desires.” He didn’t look at Thomas during the silence that followed. 

“Feel better for that?” Thomas sounded more amused than angry which was somehow almost more frustrating. 

“No.” He felt petulant and _hated_ it. He didn’t understand why talking like this made him feel angry. But it was like it left his skin raw, vulnerable almost, and he didn’t know how else to react when he felt like that. 

“James. I’m only asking that you admit this.” 

The use of his name, like he were a child, made his hands ball into fists. “Admit _what_?” 

“That you’re upset.” 

“I’m _not_ ,” he said, despite every evidence to the contrary. The denial wouldn’t keep inside him, though, because he truly didn’t _mean_ to feel like he did. “I don’t know why I keep- Why I feel like this. I’m just...”

“Angry at me.” And his face was so maddeningly calm that something snapped. 

“Yes!” he spat, as his frustration flared so suddenly in the face of Thomas’ continued steady acceptance that he couldn’t keep still. He lashed out, kicking the chair at his desk furiously. It toppled over noisily and he kicked it again, sending it across the room with a clatter. It wasn’t enough and he spun to face Thomas with a snarl, “Yes, I’m angry. Are you happy? I’m fucking _furious_.” 

The rage turned ice cold and to terror as Thomas’ eyes went wide with alarm. He didn’t flinch back, but his eyes flickered like he was almost preparing for a blow. James froze. He wanted to take the words back, wanted to reach out in comfort, but he couldn’t move and the words stuck in his throat.

“James,” Thomas said, back straight and voice level, like he was almost standing at parade, a forced calm clearly having been plastered over his fear, “I understand. Please believe that. I understand why you’re angry at me. After everything that happened…” He shook his head, eyes shining. “It was _my_ plan. I was the one that insisted that we kept going, that encouraged you into believing that I was right.”

“No,” James shook his head, in disbelief. Was this really what Thomas had been thinking all this time? That somehow James might look at what had happened and find _Thomas_ at fault for it? For wanting a better world? For loving too much or too deeply? He took a shuddering breath. They were going to have to talk about it eventually. Now was no worse time than any other. The thought was exhausting, but he needed Thomas to understand. He couldn’t let these misunderstandings fester and grow. He needed to be plain.

“That’s not it. If anything I was the one that failed. My whole purpose in being there was to protect you and _I_ failed in that. I should have seen the truth of it but I was blinded by-” He broke off and unbelievably found himself smiling at the utter absurdity of it. “I was thoroughly distracted and taken in. That was my fault and I’ve never blamed you for wanting a better future for men that you had no right to care for. I respected you for it. I _always_ respected, _loved_ , you for it.” 

“Then why…” 

“You left!” he cried, voice hoarse with barely suppressed emotion. “You reached into the deepest parts of me and pulled these things I hadn’t even- You pulled them into the light, made me think they might not be monstrous, that they might be worthy of _love_. And then you _left me._ What was I meant to do then? How could those parts of me survive that?” 

Thomas looked ashen. “James…”

“It was cruel,” he said, “to have been granted access to the garden only to be exiled with no hope of return.” He shook his head again, trying to get a grip on his flaring emotions. “I didn’t even want to. Without you, there was no one I _wanted_ to love those parts of me anymore. They were yours and I…” He trailed off and shook his head. 

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said, his voice quiet. “I’m so sorry. I know you know that I didn’t want to leave, but I should have done more. I should have realised that my father would stop at nothing to see us ruined before he let me win.” 

“That was my job,” James said. “I was meant to protect you.” 

Thomas smiled, sadly, and took a step closer. “Was no one meant to protect you?” James looked up at him, startled at the question. Thomas reached out, slow, as though expecting James to pull away. He didn’t. He’d never found himself able to refuse Thomas’ touch. Thomas’ hand found his arm, fingers brushing the length of it before tangling his fingers in James’. He used the motion to pull them closer together, and James gripped his hand tight. “Perhaps we both fucked it up?” Thomas asked, closing the remaining space between them to rest their foreheads together.

He huffed a laugh; not used to hearing Thomas swear and closed his eyes. “Perhaps.” 

“Perhaps we need to forgive each other,” he said, “and then ourselves.” 

He wanted to shake his head, but it wasn’t just about him. Thomas was asking for something and James simply didn’t know how to deny him, even if he wasn’t sure entirely how to fulfil the promise. The conflict made it hard to speak and so he pulled Thomas close instead, kissed his temple and closed his eyes. 

He expected Thomas to speak, to question his own silence, but perhaps he understood because he said nothing. Instead he wrapped his arms around James and held him. It was enough. 

*****

John had been surprised by how easily their first prize had been won. Their crew was good, perhaps even the best, and their reputation continued to grow with every successful prize they took. But their luck wasn’t always aligned with their talents and now Thomas was with them he’d half assumed something terrible would happen just to spite John for thinking that he could make staying with the crew work. But it hadn’t. The ship had been taken, its contents seized and they’d made it back to Nassau with not a single incident. James had overseen the sale of the haul personally, not yet trusting the system Max had set up. They were ready to set sail again within a few days. 

Things were good. Better than they’d ever been since he’d joined _The Walrus_ for the first time. Which made the fact that Thomas had seemed out of sorts since they’d returned to land even stranger. John made it a habit to know how his crew was doing, it paid to know when someone was acting out of character. That he was especially attuned to Thomas made it all the more obvious when the change happened. Flint seemed basically unchanged, but he kept all emotions outside anger closely guarded so there was no real way to tell if whatever was bothering Thomas was also affecting their captain. It also made whatever was wrong with Thomas a bigger puzzle. He didn’t seem annoyed or dissatisfied with life aboard the ship. He was just… withdrawn. Contemplative, perhaps. Nothing that was overtly concerning, but it meant that when he wasn’t to be found amongst the men preparing _The Walrus_ to set sail again, John went looking for him. 

He found him easily enough, sitting alone on the beach, watching the progress of the crew as they fussed with the ship. He approached the lone figure on the sand slowly, not wanting to startle him. 

“The crew are about ready to board,” he said, then when there was no movement added, “you do intend to join us?” It was meant as a joke, but when Thomas didn’t move John felt an unexpected jolt of apprehension. He lowered himself to the sand slowly. “Brooding is better done at sea, you know.” 

This, at last, made Thomas react. He smiled and turned his head to him. “You spend a lot of time brooding, John?” 

He laughed. “No, I’m not built for it. You need layers to brood and I’m all shiny surface.” 

Thomas smiled but then looked back out to sea as his smile dimmed. 

“Are you going to tell me what has you dodging the loading of cargo or should I report the issue direct to the captain?” 

“Heaven forbid, I’m not sure I could stand another disciplinary.” The joke fell unusually flat in its delivery but John still let out a good-natured huff of laughter. 

“That a no then?” 

“Oh,” Thomas said, as though he were struggling to keep a good grasp on the conversation and not just trying to avoid it like John knew he was. “I was just thinking.” 

“Brooding, yes,” John supplied. “But I asked about what.” 

“James.” 

John clasped a hand over his heart. “Surely not. Playing favourites with your concern?” 

Thomas smiled again. “Never fear, dear Quartermaster, I spend more than enough time worrying about you as well.” 

“And to the exact nature of the issue?” John asked, carefully side-stepping the thought that Thomas had anything to worry about when it came to him. 

“I suppose,” he said, slowly, clearly carefully forming the words as he went, “I just hadn’t quite realised what it was like for James all these years. But now I see it, how real it is…” He trailed off and looked out at the ocean again. John waited, suspected that he might not be done and was rewarded when Thomas turned to look at him to continue speaking. “It’s been so long and I knew the years would not have been good, but the change in James, I hadn’t imagined it.”

A knot of worry formed hard in John’s chest. He knew that Thomas understood, on a theoretical level, what the life of a pirate meant. But he could well understand that seeing it at close quarters was different. That it might make him see _Flint_ differently. The idea sat poorly with him. “The life of a pirate,” he began, hoping his panic wasn’t obvious in his voice, “it’s complicated, more so than you might think. There are difficult choices and I know the captain has never taken any of them lightly-” 

“No,” Thomas interrupted shortly, shaking his head, “it’s not that. The war and-” he waved absently. “I cannot begin to judge the morality of it all and I don’t care to, even if I could. But...” He shook his head. “The men around you and James, I hadn’t imagined the difference in how you would interact.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” John said, relieved but perplexed. 

“It’s just…” Thomas waved his hand again. John had never seen him so inarticulate and it was throwing him off-balance somehow. “The men, they don’t…” He huffed in annoyance, presumably at his inability to finish his own sentences and fixed John with a determined look. “I mean to say, John, that you don’t even like people and yet they love you.” 

John pressed down on a smile. “Well, I’m a difficult man not to like.” 

“I’m aware,” Thomas agreed with an easy, shared smile, before it twisted again. “But with James they…”

“They respect him a great deal,” John felt compelled to add and it was true. Most of the time. Certainly recently. 

“I know,” he said. “I just suppose that all this time, I had never imagined that James would be so… alone.”

John let out a long breath that turned into a note of relieved laughter. “You’re brooding about the past.” 

Thomas looked at him as though surprised by John’s surprise. “The James I knew, he didn’t have many close friends, but he _had_ friends. He was popular, well liked among his crew and all of London. It just pains me to think of how alone he must have felt these past years, with Miranda at Nassau and him so often at sea.” 

“He’s been in a pretty foul mood this past decade or so,” John said. “I think it takes a while to warm to him now, that’s all. And he did have friends.” Acquaintances. Partners? John wasn’t entirely sure what to call the shifting alliances that Flint had made in Nassau. There was Gates, too, although that story probably wouldn’t cheer Thomas up, come to think of it. He hurried on lest Thomas ask any questions. “It was partly by design, I think, he didn’t trust easily, which I’m sure you can well understand, given the circumstances. And anyway, he has you now,” he said. “I’m not sure what this upset is doing - other than swinging the lead.” 

“Nothing,” Thomas agreed. “It’s just something he said to me. I feel terribly for what he went through and that he suffered so much of it alone. It’s a small cross to bear, I suppose, to be here with him again. I suppose I was just considering the best way to bear it.” 

“Very good,” John said, hoping that the statement was enough to suggest that he had any clue what Thomas was getting at. “Come on, they’ll leave without us and then Flint really will be all alone.” 

Thomas got to his feet and knocked his shoulder against John’s as he started to walk. “It does make it all the more surprising, though, doesn’t it?” 

“What?” 

“That you should have found yourself so in his confidence.” Thomas’ tone was mild. Too mild really. “That this man, who so didn’t want to trust, or let anyone in, found someone totally opposed to being trusted or relied on and then… did just that.” 

John’s chest felt strangely tight. “I never said he was a smart man,” he said, lightly, knocking his shoulder back into Thomas’. 

“Hmmm,” he agreed. “Such lovely features though.” 

John laughed. “Yes, I suppose they do go some way to making up for it.”

***

James was bleeding. He looked down at the dark stain seeping over his shirt, making the fabric cling to his side. He tried not to grimace as he walked; the men were looking at him as he passed. He didn’t turn to gauge their expressions. It might have been respect or fear. Or more likely it was judgement for having not realised sooner that there was going to be such a fearsome fight. They had lost men. Not as many as they had in some fights, but any loss was always felt keenly and while the fight might have been inevitable, they could perhaps have been better prepared. 

Silver was at his side immediately when he stepped onto the ship. Perhaps the men saw it as a show of solidarity, perhaps they thought he was being reprimanded by his own Quartermaster. 

“What the fuck happened?” Silver hissed, reaching out to steady James as he swayed slightly. 

He resisted jerking away, not wanting it to seem as though he’d been startled. “There was a disagreement.” 

“I can see that,” he said, voice low and urgent. “I thought it was finished, isn’t that why I was ordered off the ship?” 

“Clearly it wasn’t.” James gritted his teeth, not wanting to show how much his body was screaming at him to rest. He didn’t look down but was a little worried that he might be trailing blood, even as he held his hand to where the dagger had pierced his side. “I handled it.” 

“Handled it?” Silver asked. 

“Yes,” he snapped. “The ship is ours, the captain is dead and we are free to take the inventory. Please see to it.” 

Silver clearly wanted to argue, he opened his mouth before closing it again. “Are you going to Thomas?” 

James turned his head, still unused to hearing that name from anyone but Miranda’s lips. “Yes,” he managed to grit out. 

They would need to find a longer-term position for Thomas eventually, but it served him well currently. All he wanted was to lie down and he didn’t trust anyone else to see him so weak. 

“Okay,” Silver said, voice low, almost relieved. 

James ignored him, carried on hobbling and Silver stopped following shortly after. Presumably he was heading over to the other ship. He didn’t look back at him, although he wanted to. He always found it difficult not to look when Silver was nearby. He was used to ignoring the compulsion, instead he focused on the door to his quarters and making his way there. It seemed unreasonably far away. 

By the time he reached it, he was panting and had to blink a few times to focus enough to reach out and push open the door. He staggered a little, thrown off balance, and fell heavily into the door as it swung open. He hissed in pain, making Thomas glance up from the book in his hand before his face promptly drained of colour. 

“James,” he whispered, getting to his feet and hurrying over. “What happened?” 

“Knife,” he hissed, letting Thomas take his weight as they made their way inside. James sat heavily down in the nearest chair, grunting as the impact shot tendrils of pain up his side. 

Thomas’ face was pale as he pulled up James’ shirt, assessing the wound. He swallowed heavily, eyes unfocused and far away. James was about to reach out to him when he visibly pulled himself back and blinked rapidly. “It’s fine,” he said, voice a little weak, the words perhaps meant more for himself than James. He turned and reached for his things, pulling bandages and some bottles from a bag. 

He pulled James’ shirt off of him, hands gentle but firm as he moved him around. “What happened?” he asked, as he began tending to the wound. 

“The captain decided at the last moment that a fight might let him keep his ship.” James watched Thomas’ hands as they worked. There was a slight shake to them, but they were sure and focused. It was a little mesmerising to watch. 

“And he did this?” Thomas sounded angry, his lips pursued as he worked. 

“He did,” he said. “Not all of it,” he felt compelled to add. “There was a fight. We won, but it was harder than I suspected.” 

“Is everyone okay? Is John-?”

“He’s fine,” he said, sharp, irritation flaring at Thomas’ concern. He wished he didn’t find Thomas and Silver’s ongoing friendship so frustrating, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Partly he knew that it was fear that Thomas trusted too easily, that he wouldn’t know until it was too late that Silver was betraying him. 

But he knew himself well enough to know that wasn’t all of it. He envied them. He envied their easy patter and shared jokes. James had never shared that with Silver, wasn’t even sure how to be so easy around Thomas now. 

“I told him to leave.” James looked away. He knew a fight was looming and he didn’t want it, wasn’t sure he had the energy. But he wouldn’t lie to Thomas. 

“What? _Why?_ ” 

“Because I cannot trust him.” 

“James, you’re nearly run right through,” he snapped. “John should have been there. He could have helped, he could have-”

“I’m _fine._ ” He wanted, for a moment, to pull away from Thomas’ hands, but stopped himself, knowing that it would do no good. He needed the help and wanted the comfort, even if Thomas' obvious annoyance made anger curl hot and angry in his chest. “It was my decision to make and I won’t have you telling me how to run my ship.” 

“I’m not telling you how to run anything,” he snapped back. “But sending your Quartermaster away is plain stupid-”

“Can we wait for you to list all the ways in which I’m not meeting your exacting standards until I’m not bleeding all over the floor?” 

“I’m worried about you,” Thomas said, his voice suddenly much more gentle. James looked at him, noting the tight set of his face. His eyes flicked to James and down to his side. He looked younger, and scared. “I’ve never seen you bleed like this before. I didn’t mean to imply-”

James covered his hand, squeezing for a moment. “I really am fine,” he said. “The bleeding will stop soon. I’ve had much worse.” 

Thomas looked at him. “I suppose you meant that to be a comfort.” He shook his head and returned to tending to James’ wound. “Still, sending away John was a mistake.”

“Thomas.” The word wasn’t as sharp as his earlier ones, but the warning was still clear. 

“I shall say no more about it.” 

While James believed him, there was something in the tone that suggested the topic more generally was not finished. He closed his eyes. It seemed a long time since he’d allowed someone to tend to him like this, certainly he’d never let someone touch him like this onboard. He’d always waited to get back to Nassau for anything but the most grievous of wounds to be treated. 

He hissed at the sting of alcohol, unexpected, against a cut. He looked up at the expression on Thomas’ face, and it was so familiar that he was struck dumb for a moment. “Miranda would just tie the bandages so tight they hurt to show her displeasure.” 

Thomas paused, his hands nearly touching James’ skin. Emotions flickered over his face so fast that James had a hard time keeping up with them. “She never did need words to express herself,” he said, eventually, his hands gentling on James’ skin at the mention of her name. “I wouldn’t have pictured her as a natural nursemaid, though. Did she enjoy tending to your wounds?”

His heart did the now familiar throb of agony at the memory that she was gone, but it was mixed with such fondness that he felt almost tearful for a moment. He shook his head, choosing to smile instead. “She did not.” He looked at his hands. “She did enjoy hearing how I got them, though. Sometimes.” 

Thomas huffed. “That sounds more like her.” 

He cleared his throat. This was the first time they’d really spoken of her, his heart usually too heavy to allow any words to form. But here, it felt fitting. Or perhaps it was amends for allowing himself to be put in danger now Thomas was back and needed him. The words were halting when they came, rough like dried sand. “She hated being left behind. I’m lucky she never met Bonny, otherwise I’d probably never have kept her off the ship.” 

“She’d have been an asset,” Thomas said immediately, totally certain. “Probably more use than I am, at any rate.” 

“You have your uses,” he said, hand coming up to grip Thomas’ again briefly before he released it. 

“Did she...” Thomas started and then stopped. James looked at him, trying to understand what emotions were playing across his face. In the end he took a deep breath and looked at James squarely. “What happened to her?” 

James looked away. Thomas knew the story, the broad details at least. But he owed him the full telling of it, he knew. He wanted to put it off, but there was little point. “Peter killed her.” He started with the only thing that really mattered. His voice was tight, caught between grief and fury. “She discovered his betrayal and he killed her.” 

Thomas swallowed, eyes shining. “Why were you even there?” He looked away from James, back at the wounds he was cleaning and preparing for the stitches he would need in the worst of them.

It made it easier, somehow, to talk without Thomas looking at him. He nodded and took a breath, shallow and little hitching. “She wanted us to try and live. The last ten years had almost been harder for her, I think, than me. I see that now, Nassau was not-” He cut off, not sure what he wanted to say. There was too much. Too much pain and neglect and unspoken words. He sighed. “She wanted us to take pardons, start new lives. Truly, I’m not sure I could have done it, I was more than half-dead already by then. But, I was willing to try. For her, I-” He cut off and balled his hands into tight fists, willing tears not to fall. 

“And Peter betrayed you?” Thomas’ words were quiet, a prompt to continue rather than a request for information. 

He cleared his throat and didn’t look at Thomas, unwilling to see what expression he might find on his face. “We found Abigail.” It was easier to just tell a story. Spin the narrative like maybe he wasn’t even part of it. “Vane had her and we thought we could convince Peter to finish the plan, with returning Abigail as a sign of good faith. With Abigail’s help, we were able to secure a meeting with him. He had a plan, I would go to England and tell my story.” He glanced, quickly, at Thomas. “Our story. Give a human face to the pirates. He thought it would help. I don’t know, now, if he even meant to go through with it. But it didn’t matter.” He flexed his hands, balled them again, tired to concentrate on the sharp pain of Thomas pulling the needle deftly through his skin, as though it might help exorcise the boiling rage that still filled him at the memory. “Miranda noticed that he had your clock. The one from the parlour. A gift, it turned out, from your father for betraying us. It was too much, I think, seeing that reminder of everything they’d taken. She called him out on his treachery, reneged on the deal. Her last words were a wish that he would pay for his crimes, that the whole town he purchased with our destruction would burn.” He took a shaky breath. “I was able to do that for her at least.” 

The silence was long and pained. James didn’t, couldn’t, look at Thomas. He stared at his hands, not really seeing anything other than the awful last moments of Miranda’s life. 

“He came to me,” Thomas said, breaking into his thoughts. He sounded like he might be about to cry and that hurt almost as much as the memories. He took a breath and then he was back, cleaning the wound on James' side and wrapping it. “He told me what he’d done.” 

“I know.” The anger wasn’t for Thomas, not really. But James couldn’t contain it. “He did not deserve your forgiveness. He deserved no peace for what he did to us.” 

“No.” Thomas agreed, he sniffed, finished the last bandage and stepped away. “But I did not want to carry it with me anymore.” James looked at him, confused. “I’d always known it was him,” he said, raising his chin the way he always did when he was proving something of his own calculating. “It couldn’t have been anyone else, not really. They had _irrefutable evidence_ of our relationship.” He swallowed, eyes almost unfocused as though caught in his own memories. 

James stared at him, feeling cold with horror. He’d barely allowed himself to imagine what they’d done, what they’d said, when they took Thomas away. It made him feel queasy now, the lies and brutality of it. 

“They weren’t to use it against you, that was the deal,” Thomas continued, his throat bobbing as he swallowed heavily. “You’d both be allowed to leave, so long as I didn’t make a fuss.” He shook his head, lips twisting into a bitter smile. “I was so _sure_ that I could think my way out of it, that if I just did as I was told that I would be out of there within a month and back to you both.” He huffed a laugh, tired and lacking any humour. “Such foolishness. Stupidity heaped on hubris.” He shook his head, eyes shining. “I was there over a year by the time Peter paid me a visit. He’d come to beg my forgiveness.” His mouth quirked again. “You’d both been declared dead at sea for months by then. I suppose he was about to claim his prize in the New World but apparently required my forgiveness first.”

“He was a coward.” 

“Yes,” Thomas said, sure even though he seemed pained. “But not the only one. I’d spent so long hating him. And my father. Hating the whole of London, the whole _empire_. It was so _heavy_ I just wanted to put some of it down. And he’d saved his family while I’d killed mine, I was no longer sure he was the one in the wrong.” 

James’ heart hurt. After so much pain, for so long, it should surely not be possible to still feel this way. For it still to cut so sharply. He wished he could turn it off. He’d tried, often, but everytime he tried it meant forgetting Thomas, how he’d felt the first time they kissed, the first time Thomas had read to him. And after, it meant forgetting Miranda, how gently she’d brought him to life and then how fearless and ferocious she’d been. And he couldn’t, _wouldn’t,_ do it. He would bear the pain and remember them. 

He blinked, tears leaking slowly down his face. “I know,” he said. “I hate that he found peace when we had none. But I understand why you did it. You’re a good man.” 

He looked up when only silence met his words. Thomas was looking away, clearly gathering himself. James wanted to reach out, but stopped himself, sensing that Thomas wouldn’t welcome it. It must be strange to grieve for someone for so long and then have to do it all over again in a new way. He wasn’t sure if he could have done it. If he’d found out that Thomas was alive but had died just before he was able to reach him, he didn’t think he’d survive it. So he stayed quiet, letting Thomas have a moment, until the other man looked at him. He seemed calmer, more settled. 

“Tell me about her,” he said. “Tell me about what I missed.” 

James’ heart throbbed again. It was a fair request, not something he could really deny, but it was more complicated than Thomas could ever imagine. They were not good memories and was that fair to share? He looked away. “I did not love her like she deserved.” Thomas deserved to know the truth at least. 

“No,” Thomas said, wiping his eyes, but coming to crouch next to where James still sat. “Neither of us did, I think. She loved us anyway.” 

James nodded, tears rolling silently down his cheeks again. “I miss her,” he whispered. 

“Me too.” Thomas’ words were soft before he pulled James to his feet and over to his cot. There he settled, pulling James to him and resting their heads together. They stayed that way for long moments. “Tell me about her,” he asked again, gently. “I missed so much. I want to know something of it.”

James swallowed. “She built us a home,” he started, quiet. “More than a house, somewhere that I could aim to, that made coming back seem worthwhile.” He looked at Thomas and smiled. “And she always kept a space for you in it. She kept you alive in a way I didn’t know how. She never forgot.”

Thomas smiled through the tears, and kissed James softly. It hurt. But it was a good hurt. Alcohol on a wound. He leant in, pressing close and accepting the comfort so freely offered. 

****

John watched the departing ship and willed himself not to follow his instinct to rush into the sea after it. Three days. It was just three days to complete their allotted tasks. 

It was Thomas who had first suggested it. Maroon might never now be an ally in a direct attack on England, but that wasn’t to say they wouldn’t be a useful ally in other ways. They could provide men, provide somewhere to buy and sell goods. They could provide a safe-harbour if they (or Vane or Rackham) truly needed it. It made sense to in some way formalise it. He and Flint had thus been sent to secure the relations with Maroon, which had remained strained if not potentially hostile since John’s return. Flint had then suggested that they might leave their share of the treasure with them - both to safeguard it and as a gesture of good faith. Two simple, related tasks. Then Thomas would be back. 

There had been some heated discussion about who ought to do the tasks required. But, in the end, it had to be Flint that safeguarded the treasure. It had to be John that smoothed things over with Maroon. John and Flint had both suggested that Thomas stayed with them while they completed their tasks; his experience in drafting treaties alone would have made him valuable. But Thomas had declined, stating it made more sense for him to remain on the ship and, when that didn’t work, point blank refusing to mediate any ‘petty squabbles that might arise’ between John and Flint. That had stung, but John had to admit that his staying behind would allow him the opportunity to have a leadership role onboard without Flint or him there looming over him. 

It all made perfect, logical sense. 

Still. 

“Do you think he arranged this on purpose?” Flint asked at his side, his gaze fixed on _The Walrus_ with much the same expression as John suspected he himself was wearing. “Leaving the two of us here.” He didn’t sound annoyed. More genuinely curious. 

“Sounds like something he might do.” John sighed and forced his eyes from the departing ship and to Flint. He was growing his hair out. Did Thomas ask that of him? Was it a sign of him coming back to himself after the grief and rage of Mrs Barlow’s death? He looked away. “Or perhaps it’s a coup.” 

Flint turned his head into the sun and smiled. A real, pleased expression. John wasn’t sure when the last time he’d seen one like it on Flint was. Perhaps never. “DeGroot and Thomas running a ship,” he said, a smile turning up one corner of his mouth. “That’s a terrifying thought.” 

John couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t know if it would be the biggest disaster the ocean has ever seen or if they’d take over the world.” 

“Come on,” Flint said, gesturing to the chest at his feet, apparently done with the idle chatter. 

John mourned the loss of it. For a moment it had almost felt like before he’d left. Those precious few weeks where Flint’s smile came easy when he was around and John was finally able to relax enough to enjoy the sight of it. 

He wondered, now, if he should have known what it meant. The almost fizzy excitement when Flint gave him a look of approval or spoke with warmth to him. In retrospect it was almost unbelievable that he hadn’t. Perhaps if he’d known about Thomas, if the possibility of Flint’s interest being anything other than professional had been presented… Perhaps that had never been the case, but sometimes he wondered now, remembered a look and certain tone, and he thought that perhaps there had been the potential. 

And he’d snuffed it out. 

Perhaps if he had recognised it in himself sooner he could have done something. Not that it mattered now. It was far, far too late for the thoughts to make the slightest bit of difference. He would just need to find a way to move on. It would be easier, surely, to leave now. He could find a different life knowing that Flint was living his own, almost happily. Still. He mourned the idea of missing it. He mourned the idea that he wouldn’t get to see those easy smiles. Wouldn’t get to see what together he and Thomas might make of Nassau. 

He would probably hear tell of it. Would see the shadows that their stories cast. But never them. It was a difficult thought. But, not one that it bore dwelling on. He wasn’t leaving yet. There was still time to learn the new ways Flint was opening himself. Coming alive. He was glad to see it. Even at this uncomfortable distance. 

He did wonder, though, why Thomas had arranged for them to be here together. He’d been angry after Flint got himself hurt going after the last prize. He’d seen it in the lines of Thomas’ body as he questioned John about why he’d been sent away. _Why he’d let himself be sent away._ That was the underlying accusation, like John should have disobeyed Flint’s direct order and put them further in opposition. It was foolish reasoning, although John could well understand how Thomas had come to it. Did he think this little trip would help? That Flint might magically decide that John was worth his time again? 

The thought would be laughable if it didn’t sting in ways John didn’t want to examine too closely. Flint might have made do with John’s company when there was no one else willing to get too close, but now Thomas was back, there would have been no chance of it, even without John’s perceived betrayal in leaving. Flint would never tie himself, even in friendship, to a cripple with nothing to offer but his dubious wits and charm. 

He watched him as he walked away, heading toward the tree-line in the direction of the Maroon village. Sometimes John felt like he was trying to soak up the image of him, like he might be able to store enough of it away to last the rest of his life, when he was alone again. It was stupid, that wasn’t how it worked. He’d forget Flint, given time. He’d make sure of it. But that didn’t stop him; he’d always been too greedy for his own good.

***

The Maroon settlement seemed much less intimidating than the last time he’d approached it. It appeared less dark and oppressive, like he was seeing it with new eyes. Now it was vibrant, teeming with life and hope. Its inhabitants still gave them mistrustful looks as they passed, but he felt safe and almost pleased to be back, more so when he saw Madi approaching. She nodded, regal and elegant, at Flint and then smiled widely at John coming to him to embrace him tightly. 

“You took your time,” she said, as she leaned in. “I heard your plan didn’t take and you were back with _The Walrus_ , but I was starting to think you would never come to see me.” 

Any tension that he had at seeing her again drained from him. He hadn’t believed that she harboured any ill will for him choosing to leave, to cut short anything that might have been growing between them, but it nevertheless pleased him to have the affirmation of it. 

“I would have come sooner,” he said, easy in the truth of it, “but there have been a few matters that required my attention.” 

She smiled at him, that slightly teasing glint in her eyes that suggested she thought him a little ridiculous but liked him anyway. That wasn’t an uncommon expression to be directed at John, but on Madi he rather liked it. “Then I am glad we could be fitted into your busy schedule.” She looked at Flint. “Captain,” she said with another incline of her head. “Welcome back.” 

Flint nodded at her, polite but distant. The coolness between them was his fault, he supposed, cutting the go-between out of the agreement. He felt almost awkward for a moment, before Madi spoke, cutting through any tension. 

“I will get you some food,” she said, gesturing to one of the people standing a little behind her. “You must be tired after your journey. Rest, eat, we shall talk later.” 

Flint didn’t want to delay, John could feel the tension coming off him in waves, but he didn’t protest, presumably not wanting to appear rude. They were led to a small hut and sat where they were gestured to do so. 

Flint fidgeted in his seat, looking around as though inspecting it for traps or planning an escape route. He supposed Flint wasn’t used to being kept waiting, or being offered hospitality. Neither was John, really, but he was better able to adapt. That was a skill he’d learned very young: take the good when it was offered. While Flint seemed determined to take no comfort. 

He watched him, as he leant forward to rest his elbows on his knees only to almost immediately shift and lean back in the chair. Did he never relax? Even with Thomas? Thomas was very still in comparison to Flint, only moving when he needed to, as though he was content to watch and wait while Flint was in constant motion. Another way they were suited perhaps, they might find a balance between them. Or perhaps Thomas had ways of exhausting Flint into stillness. 

He cut the thought off abruptly and looked away, back out through the open doorway. “How bad did things get between you and the Queen?” he asked, to distract himself and cut the silence. 

Flint looked at him, frown firmly set between his eyes. “Not terrible.” His words were stiff, as though John had implied his diplomacy skills were lacking. He sighed. “Truly, I think she still believed in what I wanted to achieve, but her people were restless. There was not enough stability, and her daughter-” He paused, his eyes flicked to John, a little accusatory, before refocusing on the doorway. “Her daughter didn’t seem to trust me. There was an issue on board, the two crews did not mix well, I tried to put an end to it but I think she disapproved of my methods.” 

John knew the story but nodded along. “I’m sure you had your reasons.” 

“If the men hadn’t been so restless because their Quartermaster had abandoned them with no warning-”

“This conversation has been had,” John cut in. “The past is done and there is no changing it. We should deal with what is in front of us now.” 

“You think you can convince the princess to support the proposal?” Flint sounded skeptical, but he wasn’t able to hide the hope in his voice. Hope. That was always the poison that stopped you being able to enjoy your lot in life, that kept you fighting when perhaps giving in and making do would serve you better. 

“Yes,” he answered, truthfully. “It’s a good proposal.” 

“Thomas thought so too.” Flint sounded a little proud and John bit down on a smile. He’d been there with Vane and Rackham when Flint had laid out the terms, had seen how ferociously he’d defended them when neither man had wanted to have another partner take a cut from the proceeds of their work. He’d wondered then, how much Thomas had worked on the terms. Not that he didn’t believe Flint capable himself, but there was something in the details that made him think someone with real experience of politics had had a hand in their drafting. “I hope they’re strong enough to hold without you here to keep the peace.” 

He knew Flint talking about him leaving shouldn’t bother him, but he couldn’t help the strange flare of anxiety at the thought. “Once they’re in place it won’t be the work of but a couple of months before no one remembers they ever weren’t there.” It was amazing what people would grow used to, even things they claimed to despise. 

“You being here sends the wrong message,” Flint persisted, an argument he’d put forward before they’d even left the ship. “I don’t want you to act as the go-between.” 

“We work with what we have.” Thomas had actually been the one to first say these words, and Flint clearly knew that because he scowled at John. The intensity would have usually made him want to squirm, but here he felt comfortable. He knew his worth well enough and nothing that Flint said would undermine that. That it pained John to have Flint’s displeasure directed at him, didn’t need to be shared. 

“I don’t like to rely on things that can disappear at a moment’s notice.” 

John didn’t answer. There was no point and the last thing they needed was to be found arguing when one of the Maroons returned. It meant they spent quite a long time in slightly tense silence. Flint seemed determined not to break it and John had nothing to say.

He thought of Thomas, wondered if he was thinking of them and imagining something more healing happening between them. Part of John was glad that it wasn’t; this treaty was going to be the starting point of his being able to leave, properly this time, with matters more peaceful and able to continue without him. It wasn’t like Flint’s life was ever going to be safe, but he could at least leave it a little more stable. 

“You should teach Thomas to fight,” he said, finally breaking the silence. The thought had been playing on his mind for some time. Hiding Thomas away every time there was a fight was only going to work for so long. The men wouldn’t stand for him never pulling his weight and, more to the point, they could never truly be sure when the fight might end up coming to them. Thomas needed to be able to protect himself. 

“What?” Flint asked, scowling again, as though he hadn’t heard John plainly. 

“He ought to be able to protect himself,” John stated, like they both didn’t know that. “He’s strong, has a mean right hook.” He grinned, the memory almost fond now, despite how terribly he’d felt at the time. His hand ghosted along his jaw, as though he could still feel where Thomas’ fist had connected. “But he needs to learn how to use a sword at least.” 

Flint stared at him for a long time, as though trying to understand some unknowable riddle. “He’s asked me to teach him,” he said, voice tight. But not, this time, because he was angry with John. 

“You think a fight is more likely to find him just because he’s able to partake in one?” 

Flint shrugged a shoulder and looked away, caught in the absurdity of the thought. “He’s not meant for war.” 

_And we are?_ He wanted to ask, but didn’t, angry for reasons he couldn’t articulate. He could feel heat rising in his chest and he shifted in place. “And yet he finds himself in one,” he said instead. “He must be able to defend himself. I would offer, but my skills are not exactly-” He waved, dismissing the end of the sentence. “You would do better at it.” 

“It’s really none of your concern.” Flint was back to cold, the momentary crack in his resolve to completely ignore John’s arguments gone. 

“I just-” Thankfully, because a fight was looming, he was interrupted at that moment by the return of one of the Maroons bringing them food and water. 

They ate in silence. Then they sat in silence. John was starting to worry that they were never going to be asked to meet with the Queen when all at once they were asked to join her in her rooms. 

What followed was much less tense than what had proceeded it. The Queen seemed to like Flint, was happy to be engaged by him and listened carefully to the proposal. 

Madi sat quiet and reflective behind her mother. She watched Flint when he spoke with concentration and an unreadable expression. Silver found, in the end, that he had little to contribute. He answered when others voiced their apprehension that the pirates would not keep their word; it was hard to deny given their dealings in the slave trade. All John was able to offer was that ultimately this deal would work for the same reason all deals worked: it was mutually beneficial and made those taking part’s lives better. While that remained true, there was little need to worry. And in the short-term, while it was still untested, Flint and he, along with Vane, would hold others to the fire if they looked to break it. 

“If this goes wrong,” Madi said, “we will have nowhere to hide. We will be vulnerable in a way we have never been before.” 

“You will also have more means to protect yourselves, perhaps even expand or move.” Flint’s voice was always a little hypnotic, it was hard to remember when he spoke, sometimes, that he was just a man spinning a story about the future. That he truly believed himself powerful enough to make it a reality didn’t actually mean that he could. 

Madi’s eyes found Silver’s after a brief moment of looking back at Flint, and he nodded to her. He and Flint were genuinely in agreement on this matter, if little else. 

The conversations drew to a close shortly after and Madi approached him, pulling him from the room with a muttered, “We have much to discuss, you and I, John.” 

They went to her study, where she reclined, beautiful and totally at ease, motioning for him to do the same. “So,” she said, after he’d taken a seat, “you’re back.” 

John raised an eyebrow. “So it would seem.” 

“And you’re not leaving again?” 

He looked away. 

“Ah,” she said, disappointment mostly concealed from her voice. “What prompted your return?” 

He hesitated. Most of it wasn’t really his story to tell and he was loathed to give much of his away at the best of times. But, she had always been nothing but stalwart in her affections and he needed an ally. “I found an old friend of Flint’s,” he said, close enough to a truth. 

She raised both eyebrows. 

“I know,” he said, smiling and shaking his head. “It was a complete coincidence, I can assure you. In fact, we’d been travelling together for some time before either of us realised that we both knew him.” He looked away and then down at his hands. His chest still hurt, just a little, when he remembered the times just before it all came out about Flint. They’d been happy. Perhaps it was never going to last, but it had been good for a time. “There was some trouble and I had cause to call on Flint for his assistance.” 

Madi was quiet, waiting to see if John had more to say. He did not. “And then you stayed.”

“It seemed prudent,” he said. “I felt...” He wasn’t sure, really. All the reasons he’d been telling himself sounded flimsy and transparent here, in the face of Madi’s passive waiting. “I wanted to ensure that my new friend was settled and perhaps I felt some guilt for how I left the men previously.” 

Madi smiled, tight lipped at him. “There is more that you are not telling me.” 

John shrugged. “It’s not for me to tell it.” 

“He must be a remarkable man,” she said. “For you not to leave again.” 

John laughed. “He’s…” He shrugged, helpless and caught. It felt unfair to deny it, but agreeing would be another sort of lie and exposing in itself. “I think you would like him,” he settled on. 

“I would like to meet him,” Madi said. She watched him closely for a moment. “You’re determined to leave again?” 

“Flint didn’t want me to stay at all,” he said. “If Thomas- Mr Smith, hadn’t insisted on it, then I don’t think I would have.” 

Madi lifted her eyebrows again. “It’s been difficult here,” she said, body tense as though she hadn’t expected to reveal this to him. “You took with you the hope so many of us had started to gather for a better life.” She looked away. “It seems darker without it.” 

John let out a long breath. “I do not believe that the circumstances are so different,” he said. “I simply showed you how flimsy the hope was. I would have you safe, Madi, a little more in the shadows, perhaps, but alive.” 

“You’re a hard man to continue to dislike,” she said, fond even as her eyes shone a little. “I find myself upset that you took that dream from us and now you’re here again, as though leaving actually meant so little to you after all.” 

“Well,” he said, smiling even though his chest hurt. “I won’t ask for forgiveness, I did what I did to survive and to keep you and Flint safe. You are welcome to dislike me for it for as long as you like.” 

“I thought I was just saying that I don’t dislike you?” Madi rolled her eyes. “Flint will come around.” 

“He will not,” he said. “He tends to hold a grudge.” He shook his head and waved her next retort away. “I don’t want to talk of him. Tell me what’s happened here.”

Madi narrowed her eyes. “I shall,” she agreed after a moment. “But then in return I want to hear about this ‘Thomas’ and how you met.” 

John’s mouth quirked. It was a command, but one that he found it no real hardship to comply with. He could tell her some of the highlights of his travels, there were some entertaining stories that would obscure as much as they would reveal. 

They spent a very pleasant evening together. He remembered, almost at once, why he’d had to leave her. She was lovely. Smart as she was beautiful, assured and thoughtful. He could have loved her so fiercely that he would have burnt the world for her. She did not need that sort of complication anymore than he did. So he took his leave not long after the sun had dipped, leaving them in the lamplight. She made no move to delay his departure, showing yet again that she was far smarter than anyone could possibly give her credit for. 

“Thank you,” he said, as he left, turning back to her. “For supporting these talks.” 

She nodded. “You are most welcome,” she said, “but I didn’t do it for your sake. I believe they are good for Maroon.” 

John smiled, satisfied that she spoke the truth of it. 

“You will come and say goodbye.” Another command, and perhaps one that he might find harder to adhere to.

“I shall,” he said, because he hated to deny her anything in the moment. 

She paused at the door. “I am glad you came back. There was unfinished business, I believe, and I hope that you will have cause to draw it to a satisfactory close before you decide if you truly must leave again.” 

He turned to look at her, wondering what she thought she knew, tempted to ask. But in the end he simply smiled at her and leant forward to place a kiss on her brow. “My princess,” he said softly into her hair, before turning and leaving. 

****

The talks were simple after that. It seemed none of the parties truly wished anything other than their speedy agreement. Their business was concluded two days after they’d been dropped off. 

When Flint suggested they leave immediately and camp on the beach so they would be ready for boarding, John didn’t disagree with him. He had been restless and unable to settle; seeing Madi again had reminded him of everything he had wanted to leave behind, and how quickly he’d managed to get himself tangled again. 

They set up camp on the beach not far from where they’d first arrived. John made himself useful by collecting firewood. They hadn’t spoken alone since their almost argument over Thomas learning to fight. John was under no illusions that they would escape this trip without one, but he hoped to avoid it for as long as possible. When he returned with the wood, Flint was nowhere to be seen. He was both relieved and a little disappointed. 

The fire was stoked high a few hours later as the sun disappeared and stars began to dot the sky; perhaps he’d overdone it on the firewood collecting, but he hadn’t wanted Flint to complain about a lack of it. 

Flint returned only when it was fully dark, with food given them by the Maroons which was far superior to what they would be getting once aboard. John would have liked to enjoy it more, but Flint’s permanently displeased presence made it difficult. They ate in silence. John was wondering if he might just try and sleep immediately, despite how far from tired he felt, when Flint spoke, startling him out of his thoughts. 

“What do you think of Thomas?”

John turned his head. “Why?” The question made his stomach churn in alarm. There was a trap, or at least a test, in the question. One he found himself very keen not to fail. 

“Why does that matter? Does the reason affect your answer?”

The clear and true answer was ‘yes’ and they both knew it. “It seems a strange opener when you haven’t had a single thing to say to me in days.” His words were angier than he’d intended them to sound, but there was nothing he could do about it once they were out. He stared resolutely into the fire. “So, I can only assume you have some particular motive for asking, and I would rather know that than play a game.” 

Flint was quiet for a long time. John stared into the fire and left him to his thoughts. “You seem determined to play at being his friend,” Flint said eventually. “I would know why.” 

“I like him.” It was the truth and though some part of him rebelled at saying it, there was no real reason to hide it. 

“You don’t do a thing you don’t believe will benefit you,” Flint spat back.

John sighed. “He saved my life,” he said. “After I’d saved his, admittedly, but we spent some weeks together, with no one else to rely on.” He looked at Flint across the fire. “A bond was formed, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not.” 

“And all of this?” Flint gestured between them and back towards the Maroon camp. “It is all on his behalf?” 

“No,” John said. “It’s a part of it, he asked for my help in securing the crew, but it’s not just that.” He glanced at Flint and away, back to the fire, not wanting to see his expression. “The truth is I have nowhere else to go, and I thought gathering some money before departing, while also leaving the crew in a better state, made sense.” 

“You cared little before, of the danger you left us in.” 

John shrugged. “I could say that I feel uneasy about that now, but you will not believe me, so I’m at a loss for how to continue.” 

Flint huffed an annoyed breath. “Why did you and Thomas become friends?” 

John frowned. “I do not understand this line of questioning.” 

“I care not,” he said. “Just answer the question.” 

“I _told_ you,” he said, the words now seemingly ready to pour out of him in frustration. He wanted Flint to understand or at least have no room to argue so he kept talking, voice low and as certain as he could make it. “We went through much together. He made me laugh. He punched me in the face for overstepping and then still offered his friendship.” He shrugged, feeling a little exposed but not enough to stop. It felt good, actually, to voice the thoughts he’d previously only kept in his head. “He’s the sort of man that you do not want to disappoint. Not because he will take revenge, but because he’s good and it makes you, almost, think you might be able to take a part of that goodness as your own. And because you want him to believe you to _be_ good, perhaps you become a little bit better yourself. He has ridiculous philosophies about life, utterly absurd, given what he’s seen of the world, but he believes them so earnestly, I almost wish they were true and,” here he did look at Flint, “I would try and change the world, just a little, so it was.” 

Flint stared at him, eyes wide and flickering in the firelight. He seemed almost surprised before he looked away. “I don’t trust you not to betray his trust,” he said. “He’s trusted men before that turned out to be his ruin. He still seems to see the world as he would have it be and I cannot let that be his undoing. I _must_ see it as it is.” 

“I don’t know why you insist that I will do anything to harm him,” John said, voice now tight with anger. He’d been honest, not truly believing that it would move Flint, but it still stung that he was so determined not to believe in John even a little. 

“Experience,” Flint hissed. 

John shook his head. “I do not believe that my actions were as terrible as you insist they were.” He balled his hands into fists where they rested on his knees. “If you were not so blinded by your dislike of me, you might see that.” 

“You lost me the alliance with this island,” he hissed.

“ _You did that_ ,” Silver snapped. “I did nothing to damage it. If my leaving was all it took, then there was never an alliance and in any case, it is sorted now. You have an alliance, it may not be for a war, but this is something that can _last._ This is _better._ ” 

Flint shook his head in apparent disbelief. “You still don’t see it, do you ? I was so close,” he said through a snarl. “I could have taken her on, brought England to her knees and you took it away.” 

“I saved your life,” John said, certain and cold with fury suddenly. They’d both known, really, what was lying unspoken between them. He had never wanted to address it, but was suddenly desperate to. To tell Flint how utterly ridiculous he’d always been. He wanted to wipe that self-assured snarl off his face. He wanted to tear down his righteous idiocy before it flared again and consumed them all. “There was never going to be a close to that war, just unending horror. A shitty island halfway across the world that’s never really made them much money to begin with? That they can be convinced to leave that alone, if the cost was deemed too high. But the Empire will never yield the blood used to hold it aloft. It would be its end, and there’s nothing more dangerous than a monster of that size fighting for its very survival. Nothing you cared for would be safe. You would be dead and there would be no stories told about you at all. You’d be a footnote, a cautionary tale to those that poke at the beast.”

Flint’s face constricted with fury. “You doubt my ability to see it through?” 

John shook his head. “You and Madi together would have led a rebellion across half the globe. You would have failed. I have such faith in you,” the words were surprisingly hard to force out, even though they probably didn't matter, wouldn’t make a difference anymore, “I believed you could do things no one else would. And I was _scared_ for you. I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to stop you, or that I’d have to do something much worse than leave to do it.”

“I can never forgive the betrayal of it,” he said, words quiet now. 

It was the calmness of the statement that made John know it was true. It lodged like a shard of ice in his chest. He wanted to bring his hand up, massage the place above his heart like it might soothe the feeling, but didn’t. “And you are alive to continue hating me. You are alive to be with Thomas again and be happy.” He looked up at him, aware suddenly how similar the words were from the day before with Madi. His heart thudded heavily in his chest, dread flooding him. It was too late to put the realisation away. He swallowed and looked away. “I will not apologise for it.” 

Flint shook his head in disbelief before rising and striding out of the clearing. And John was left alone. 

***

He stayed at the camp. There was nothing else to do. Even if Flint ordered him away when he returned, he might still find passage on _The Walrus_ to somewhere more convenient than Maroon. He considered asking Madi for passage, but the thought of not seeing Thomas again sat ill with him. 

He sat alone in the circle of flames that somehow didn’t manage to quite warm him. Thomas was late. He should have been there by sundown, but there was little cause to worry just yet. He watched the horizon anyway. He wasn’t waiting for Flint’s return. At least not exactly. He knew that he might stay away until _The Walrus_ was in sight. He was stubborn and his renewed dislike for John was probably keeping him warmer than the fire. 

So, he was surprised by the footsteps when they came. 

“I was going to tell you,” Flint said suddenly, still standing a little behind John. “I was considering the night before you left, that might I tell you, if you ever asked. About Thomas. Everything.”

John sighed. It was not the conversation he expected, but it made him feel sicker than any of the ones he had considered. He hung his head before answering. “I know.” 

“What?” Flint sounded genuinely surprised. 

“I mean, I could hardly guess the contents of what you were going to say. But I knew…” He trailed off, looked back at the fire. “You wanted to open yourself to me. I knew.” 

Flint circled behind him to sit on the other side of fire. He frowned deeply at him. He looked, God help him, upset. “That’s why you left?” 

John owed him the truth, he supposed. “It was my last chance. I knew that if you let me really see you, that would be…” He shrugged. “It was my last chance to run.” 

“And Madi?” he asked. “Hadn’t she already-?”

“That was different,” John said, cutting in. He didn’t want to think about her. It made his chest ache, a dull wound that would never fully heal. “She’s not… It doesn’t mean the same thing to her.” 

The silence was laden as it stretched between them. “You’re a selfish prick.” 

John laughed. “We know this about me.” He hung his head. “But, so are you. Both of you. You say that you care about me, that you want me to be close but…” He shook his head. “You’d have used me up. Drained me dry for a war that we were never going to win. For a fight that was never going to _end_. So, I was selfish, but so were you. You weren’t going to tell me those things for _me_. They were for you. To bind us together and keep me with you until there was nothing left of me to give. So I ran and I survived. I won’t apologise for it. I was alive to find Thomas and you are still alive to have him returned to you. Tell me again that I did the wrong thing.” 

“That’s not how history works,” Flint replied, jaw working. “You don’t get to rewrite your betrayals because of an unforeseen outcome.”

John shrugged. “I’m still not sorry for it.” 

“You’re really not,” Flint said, disbelief in his voice. 

“It…” He swallowed hard. “It pained me to leave. I think you know that. It wasn’t what I wanted, but no. I’m not sorry for what came after.” 

“You didn’t trust me to protect you,” Flint said. “You didn’t trust me, not ever.” 

John shook his head. “Trust? No. Admire? Yes. Care for? Greatly. But, no, not trust. You can’t trust someone with a vision and no care for how it’s achieved. I don’t share your vision, Flint, I told you that. Time and again. You wouldn’t listen. I’m sorry for that, perhaps. But not the rest.” He gritted his teeth, unable to not continue now they’d come this far. “And you didn’t trust me, either.” 

“Trust you?” Flint’s voice was high with disbelief. “How can you say that? I brought you into my confidence. I shared all my plans, I was going to share Thomas. What was there left? In what ways should I have trusted you that would have made a difference?” 

“To find another way to be happy!” He hadn’t expected to shout, his emotions had gotten away from him. Seeing Madi again, being so close to Flint and his continued dislike, it was all pressing down on him. It was too much, and he needed to relieve the pressure. His words seemed to echo around them for a moment. He took a breath to continue at their previous low-volume. “To find a way to walk away when the time was right. You wanted to die and you wanted me to watch you do it. Or more likely die trying to stop it. Don’t talk to me of trust when we both know that’s where trusting you was headed.” 

There was a long silence, filled only with the crackle of the fire and waves lapping on the shore. “I’m not sure,” Flint started, faltered. John wasn’t sure when he’d last heard him do that was. “I’m not sure I could have _been_ happy, not the way other men are. Flint wasn’t- That’s not what he was for.” 

“I’m aware.” John looked carefully at his own hands, not daring to look at the other man. He’d said too much, given too much away. He hadn’t meant to reveal anything of his revelation about his own feelings. Fear made his heart hammer almost painfully in his chest. The only comfort was that it was much too late for the confession to mean anything. Thomas was coming for them soon enough and John would do nothing to hurt him. Flint would rather die. So it didn’t make a difference, only to his pride and John had always rather prided himself on not having much of that to begin with. 

“There is too much between you and I, Silver,” Flint said after a long moment. “Too much bad to forget. Too much distrust to move on from.” 

John balled his fists, feeling the way his nails bit into the soft flesh of his palms. He clenched his jaw. It would soon be over; he could withstand Flint’s ongoing rejection until then. He forced himself not to move. “I’m aware.” 

“Flint and Silver.” He shook his head. “They’re over. They were over the day you left. I see now perhaps they were doomed from the start.” 

John lifted his head to stare at Flint over the fire, his heart surely beating too loud to not be heard. There was something in Flint’s voice that he hadn’t heard since he returned. Something yielding. 

“Perhaps James and John,” he started and then stopped to lick his lips. “Perhaps they might fare better, at least until you leave. They might part on better terms.” 

“Flint is dead then?” John didn’t dare to hope for anything from this, perhaps it was a platitude. But the idea of the man he’d come to know being gone forever, despite his obvious shortcomings, pained him. 

The other man looked away, face unreadable. “No. He’s still there. But, now with Thomas... I don’t know. I’m not who I was.” 

John laughed, a little bitter and a little relieved. “Who is?” 

The silence this time was less strained. John’s heart slowly returned to its steady rhythm. It was… not unpleasant to be together next to the fire to share the space. 

“Okay.” There was movement across the fire, a rustling of clothes and shifting of sand, as Flint pulled himself to his feet. “I’m to bed before the sun rises and we start all of this again.” 

He waited almost too long, the figure beside him already turning to leave before he gathered his courage. “Goodnight James,” he said, quietly. The name felt strange, wrong, on his tongue. But he recognised that a treaty had been extended. He felt compelled to offer his own.

James paused, and for a moment John thought he was going to reach for him, lay a hand on his shoulder. Only the touch never came. “Goodnight John.” 

He was gone the next moment and John was alone with a strange feeling in his chest. It was bitter-sweet, on the edge between pleasure and pain. He looked at the fire and ignored it.

_TBC_


	5. Chapter 5

Thomas was waiting for them when they boarded _The Walrus_ early the next morning. “You’re late,” James said, relief uncurling in his chest at the sight of him, unharmed and smiling at them. 

“I apologise, Captain,” he said, eyebrow raised and face still fond and amused. God, he’d missed him. It was the first time they’d been apart for longer than a few hours since Thomas had been returned to him and it had stung in ways James hadn’t anticipated. “The winds were less kind than we’d hoped.” 

He nodded. “I’d like a full report,” he said. 

“He wants to complain about the food on Maroon,” Silver- _John_ he tried to remind himself - said at his shoulder. The man never could remain quiet for longer than twenty seconds at time. 

Thomas smiled even more broadly at his words, though. Whether it was amusement at the words, pleasure at seeing John or a realisation that the teasing words might signal something, James couldn't be sure. It was likely all three. Little got past Thomas.

“Welcome back, Quartermaster,” he said. “I trust the negotiations went well?”

“I’m sure the captain can fill you in,” John said, and then he was walking by them and further into the ship. He clapped Thomas on the shoulder as he passed. 

“Debriefing?” Thomas asked, cocking his head to the side.

James rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t quite keep the smile from his face. “I shall be in my quarters,” he said. “Do report there once we’ve set off.” 

“Aye,” Thomas said, with such delight that James’ heart squeezed in his chest. He wanted to reach for him, his hands were restless at his sides with it. But he held them still and contented himself with nodding. 

Thomas didn’t bother knocking before entering less than half an hour later. “So?” he asked, excited and flushed from the sun and wind. 

James was out of his seat and wrapped around him moments later. The kiss was heated and Thomas matched his every move, coming alive under his hands. James wondered if he’d ever tire of the feeling. He pulled back, breathless and smiling. “Four days was longer than I liked.” 

Thomas smiled, now more flushed and a little ruffled where James’ hands had been in his hair. “An hour is longer than I’d have liked,” he said, so earnest that James’ heart did a pathetic little roll in his chest. “But it was necessary. The treaty is agreed?” 

James nodded. “They saw the sense of it immediately.” His mouth quirked. “Silver was hardly needed at all.” 

“I’m glad that it’s been agreed.” There was a pause where they both pretended that Thomas wasn’t going to ask, before he did exactly that. “And how was your time with him? I see no obvious signs of violence so can I assume that it wasn’t too bad?”

He rolled his eyes. “We talked,” he said. “We came to an agreement.” 

Thomas’ face lit up with such obvious pleasure that James couldn’t keep from smiling. “An agreement?” 

“We are to try and forget the past, so that we might part on better terms,” he said, the scepticism in his voice made it clear that he had his doubts that it would hold. But, he found that he wanted it to. Disliking John so obviously gave him no real pleasure. He felt lighter for the truce even if it wasn’t truly deserved. 

“Oh, James,” he said, “I’m delighted to hear it.” 

“I’m sure,” he said, voice flat. 

“And how did this come to pass?” he asked, reaching out to run a hand down James’ arm to grip his hand. 

“We talked,” he said, slowly. “He convinced me that he means you no harm and that, perhaps, he had his reasons for leaving. Even if I do not believe them just.” 

Thomas smiled, cheeks dusting pink. “You talked of me?”

“We did,” James said. “But that was between us.” 

“Oh,” Thomas said, grinning slyly. “Fine, have your secrets. I’m just delighted that perhaps there will be less time spent brooding aboard ship. The weight of it was causing considerable drag.” 

“Considerable drag?” James said, stepping closer into Thomas’ personal space. “Have you been listening to the other pirates again?” 

Thomas raised his chin in mock defiance but his lips were quirking. “I have learnt a great deal without you and John here to hamper me.” 

“Have you now?” he asked, running his hands up his arms. “Tell me of it.” 

They didn’t, in the end, spend much time talking at all. 

****

The days fell into an easy pattern. John didn’t count them down, had stopped believing that he was going to leave immediately. His talk with Flint - _James_ the name still strange even in his own head - had eased the tension on the ship. Everyone seemed to feel it, even if they hadn’t actually known anything was wrong. There was an ease on board, where things seemed to go better and more smoothly. The men laughed more, complained less. James even smiled. Occasionally. 

John felt better. And worse. Without the resentment between them he wasn’t sure what there was. It wasn’t friendship, not really, and there was still too much history for it to be a simple Captain and Quartermaster dynamic. He had no idea where it left them, but it felt hollow, somehow. The space between them was thrown into sharp relief and it hurt to see it so plainly. John wasn’t sure what he wanted: to create more or close it. 

Instead he ignored it, focused on the crew and chasing their next prize. He focused on Thomas and listening as he waxed poetic about the stories he was reading. John let him talk, listening more to the sound of his voice than the words. James would watch them, sometimes, from across the deck as they spoke, his face unreadable. He didn’t look displeased, but John wished he understood what he was seeing. 

His life was not peaceful, but there was a certain routine to it that allowed John to relax more than he had in a long time. It was nice, even when a part of him knew it couldn’t last. 

He was making his way below deck for the night when a sound made him look up. 

He found James, a scowl etched across his face, who had just slammed the door to his own quarters and was stalking across the deck. John blinked and considered not following for nearly ten full seconds. He found him a few feet away, pacing the deck; John could practically see the steam rising off him as he approached. The crew were skirting around him, well remembering the consequences of that expression if ignored, albeit that they hadn’t had the questionable pleasure of seeing it for the last few weeks. 

John came to stand near James. Not within arms-length, he hadn’t lost his mind. He waited. Prodding would only send him further into himself. James paced. John held his ground. James paused, looking briefly at John and then out to sea. 

“I had forgotten,” he said abruptly, not looking at John. 

“Forgotten?” John kept his voice light, politely inquisitive, but not too much. No need to spook him into thinking his answer mattered and needed to be considered. 

“Thomas,” he said, his teeth gritted. 

John’s eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. “Thomas?” 

“He can be…” 

John waited, he wasn’t going to suggest an ending to _that_ sentence for all the gold in the Empire. 

“Infuriating,” James finally gritted out 

“Infuriating?” 

“Infuriating, stubborn, he doesn’t _listen_ ,” James continued, John’s participation in the conversation apparently not actually required. “He _always_ assumes he knows best. Knows what’s best for _me_.” There was a long pause where John considered and discarded several responses. But James didn’t seem to care. “It is not my fault that he is simply a terrible swordsman!”

John opened his mouth, looked at James and closed it again. “Swordsman?” he tried to bite down on his smile. “You’re attempting to teach him to fight? He’s not good at it?” He perhaps should have tried to sound a little less delighted, but the thought of finding something Thomas was bad at made him feel a little giddy. 

James turned suddenly to look at John, as though surprised to find him there. There was another pause and suddenly James' face broke into a smile. Then, all at once, he was laughing. “He’s...” he shook his head, face creasing in amusement. “He’s truly terrible. Two left feet and worse hands, which is my fault, of course, never his.” 

“And now suddenly this is… good?” John hazarded, thrown by the abrupt turn in James’ mood. 

“Fuck no,” James said, wiping away a tear that had gathered in his eye. “I had just forgotten. He is a man. A real, living man.”

John couldn’t help his answering smile, understanding blooming. “I see.” 

James shook his head, his smile dimming a little, but not going out. “I can’t believe I’d forgotten. He used to drive me mad, back in London. Once he got an idea in his head, however foolish, he wouldn’t let it go.”

“Well,” he said, smiling, “I congratulate you on your first lovers’ quarrel since reuniting.” 

James huffed another laugh. “A precious thing that I’d never even thought to miss.” 

“The making up can be the best part,” John said, “or so I’ve heard.” 

James gave him an unreadable expression and John felt a little pit open in his stomach. He’d never directly addressed the nature of their relationship before. He was sure that he might have overstepped, but then James looked down, a little smile on his face and John relaxed. 

“Do you need to apologise?” John asked, suddenly realising that _that_ wasn’t actually a topic he was capable of talking to James about.

“Probably,” James sighed. “It may be a mutual need, at least.” He turned to look back at his quarters, clearly already done with the conversation. 

“I’ll make sure you have your privacy,” John said, turning on his heel. “An hour?” 

James’ mouth twitched. “Two, and I’ll see your share of the next haul increased.” 

John laughed. “No need, Captain,” he said, already taking his leave, “knowing I’ve helped you reunite is payment enough.” 

He was a few feet away before he thought again about the phrasing of his parting words. He stopped, feeling heat rise in his face, and then forced his mind blank. 

****

“You and James are friends again,” Thomas said, eyes sparkling, face flushed with alcohol. The captain had allowed a small celebration in light of their latest prize which had turned out to be larger than most and Thomas seemed to have taken full advantage of the free-flowing rum. John grinned at him; Thomas still wasn’t particularly good at holding his alcohol and so was already a little mused and glassy-eyed. 

“We’ve come to an understanding,” he allowed.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “That’s what he said,” he said, seeming a little put out. He narrowed his eyes. “Did you agree on the phrase, shake hands in a most manful manner so there could be no hint of feeling discerned from it?” 

“The rum’s good, is it?” John asked, because he was never going to answer that sort of question and really, it was the more pressing matter at hand. 

“Hmm?” Thomas looked down at the cup in his hand as though surprised to see it there. “It doesn’t taste too much like piss, actually.” 

“I’ll take it,” John said, flagging down the nearest man with a bottle and pausing only long enough to decide to take the bottle rather than finding a glass. It was given over with only a minimal amount of grumbling. “How’re the fighting lessons going?” he asked, when the bottle was secured and he’d taken a few gulps. He winced. It wasn’t as bad as some, but that didn’t mean it was actually good. 

Thomas sighed in the most dramatic way John had ever seen him do so. He chuckled and took another swig; sorting the haul had taken longer than he’d anticipated and there was catching up to do with the rest of the non-essential crew. 

“Terrible,” Thomas said. “James says I’m more of a menace to myself than others.” He scowled. “It’s not my fault I wasn’t raised waving a sword around. I was actually rather good at fencing at school. I seem to have lost my…” He trailed off, waved his hand vaguely in what might have been a mimed parry. 

“Perhaps it’s the wrong weapon for you.” 

Thomas’ eyes lit up in a way that worried John almost immediately. “Oh,” he said. “I suspect I could learn to shoot, and I was actually very good with the scythe!”

John tipped his head back and laughed. “I’m not sure that will be the most practical weapon for close combat.” He grinned at Thomas’ put-upon expression. “But I would like to see it.” 

“You’re changing the subject,” he said, suddenly, as though just realising and narrowed his eyes again. 

“Yes,” John agreed. “Because it’s between me and James.”

“James,” Thomas repeated, beaming at him. 

“Oh do fuck off, Thomas,” he said, without any real heat. He was pleased, in some small way, that Thomas was happy at their reconciliation. Despite the fact that nothing had really changed; he was still leaving and his feelings for either of them did not change that, indeed it made it all the more real and urgent. 

"Gladly,” Thomas said, with a low bow. “You ought to encourage the men into a more jovial mood anyway.” 

John looked around. The men seemed plenty happy to him, but Thomas was already moving by him, heading towards DeGroot (who he seemed to have formed a strange fondness for). He lost him in the crowd of men after that. 

It was a good night. John held court for a while, telling stories of what he’d been doing while he was away, listening to equally fantastical ones of what he’d missed. It was so good a night that he was surprised, when he looked some time later, that could see no sign of Thomas anywhere. He assumed, at first, that he must have snuck off to see James, but a quick look around found the captain was still with the men. 

That sight was strange enough, James had so rarely mixed with the men before Thomas returned, that he paused to admire it. James wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t actively scowling and the men probably saw that as the victory it was. It was still a slow process, but they were starting to warm to him, starting to see a side they might like instead of fear and distrust. John was in no mind to interrupt the men bonding with him, so rather than asking James where Thomas was, he went to find him himself. 

He wove his way through the press of bodies, now loud and careless in their drunkenness. Two circuits of below-deck yielded nothing and so he ventured up the steps. The night was humid, but the breeze was pleasant after the close air below. He squinted in the dim light, but eventually found the outline of a figure too tall and fair to be anyone but Thomas leaning out over the side of the ship, head bowed as though deep in thought. He relaxed at having found him and made his way toward him. 

“Done with merry making?” he asked, as he approached. 

Thomas turned to him and smiled. He looked pinched, a little unfocused. John’s stomach dropped. Had he had an episode without either him or James noticing? 

“Don’t look like that,” Thomas said, waving a hand dismissively. “It was just a little much. So many people. It was…” He looked away, eyes unfocused again. “Too loud, I think.” 

John hadn’t considered how being around people so often might affect Thomas after being alone for so long. He nodded and leant back against the side of the ship next to him and turned his head so he could see the side of his face. “They’d be too much for anyone.” 

“I’m fine,” Thomas said again, really only proving the opposite must be true, but John let it go. “I was glad to see you and James enjoying it and didn’t want to disturb you; I’m just getting some air.” 

John said nothing, letting his continued presence show that he wanted to be disturbed in this instance. He watched as Thomas continued to stare out to sea, gathering himself before he spoke again. 

“The ship seems different, since you got back from Maroon,” he said, voice mild but his intent to continue their conversation from earlier clear. “Have you noticed?” 

“The treaty has eased everyone’s minds,” he said, eyes fixed over back across the ship. 

He heard Thomas hum, the note tinged with amusement. “That you and James are united again is what I meant.” 

“I know,” John relented, “most of the men wouldn’t have a clue what a treaty was even if they were wiping their arses with one.” 

“They respect you a great deal,” Thomas said. “Love you, even.”

John shifted in place. “They love the idea of Long John Silver. And I’m glad of it, they need something to look to. Hope isn’t easy to come by in this line of work.” 

“It’s not him,” Thomas said, turning to look at John, as though surprised he would even suggest it. “I’ve never seen Long John Silver on this ship. I only see you, John, same as James does. Same as the rest of the crew does.” 

John didn’t know what to say to that. Perhaps there was some truth in it. All but the newest members of the crew knew him long before there had even _been_ a Long John Silver. But the thought sat uneasy with him, sliding out of his mind like oil, unable to stick. “You’ve had too much to drink,” he said, after the silence had gone on too long. “You should get some sleep otherwise you’ll be no use to anyone tomorrow.” 

“I don’t think I could sleep,” Thomas said, voice a little tight. “But you go on,” he gestured back to the stairs. “I’ll be quite all right.” 

John shook his head. “I can’t leave you here, imagine if you lost your footing and fell overboard. James would have us searching the sea for you for the rest of eternity, and I have other things I need to do.” 

“I’m hardly that drunk,” he said, but then let out a sigh. “But I suppose I wouldn’t be adverse to some company.” 

“Right,” John said, shifting so he could sit, back resting against the side of the ship. It was not a graceful movement, but in the dark he hoped Thomas would hardly notice it. “In that case sit down. I’ve been standing for hours.” 

Thomas didn’t complain, just turned to join John on the deck. He sat close, their arms almost touching. It reminded John of nights on the road. He wanted to lean into the warmth of him. He shifted away instead. 

He passed Thomas the bottle of rum he'd brought with him and watched as he took a long drink. They continued to share it back and forth for a while, their silence companionable. John broke it first, he always did; he didn’t have the patience for the silence like Thomas did. 

“What have you been reading?” he asked. It was a topic that never failed to bring Thomas out of himself. Even at his most withdrawn, a couple of carefully placed questions about a book would bring him back to life. 

“The same,” he said, easy, taking the bottle from John’s hand and drinking again. “It’s a bore, but I feel I should finish it now. But,” the smile in his voice was so clear John didn’t need to turn to be able to clearly picture it, “James found me several new options today.” 

“Only you and him,” he said, “could be more excited by books than the treasure we claimed today.” 

“Well,” Thomas said, “gold can’t keep you entertained at night, really.” 

John turned a pitying look at him. “You have _not_ been spending your money correctly.” 

That earned him a laugh that settled warm and pleased in his belly. The drink was making their words begin to slur a little, but it was a comfortable feeling. He settled happily into it, drinking again before passing the bottle to Thomas. He’d missed this since they’d come back. There'd been no time for them to just be together, just for the sake of enjoying each others’ company. It was nice, familiar and comfortable. 

“What of you, John?” Thomas asked. “What are you going to spend your cut on?” 

“Oh,” John said, with feigned seriousness, “I think I might buy myself a pet.” 

“A pet?” he asked, his voice almost laughing already and tinged with incredulity. “You? You mean to purchase a dog or something?” 

“I was thinking of a parrot,” he said, as earnestly as he could muster, earning him another laugh. “I shall teach him to speak.” 

“What would you have him say?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” John waved his hand. “Fuck off Jack?” 

The laugh this time had Thomas swaying into his personal space, leaning against him heavily. It made John laugh with him. The alcohol and the warm air mixing with the good cheer of the ship, all combining to make him feel loose, happier than he’d felt for a long time. He let Thomas stay pressed into him. He brought the bottle of rum to his lips, drinking through his smile. 

“I think you’d suit a parrot,” Thomas managed once he’d calmed down. “It would make you look very distinguished.” 

“The peg leg does need a balance,” John said, light, taking another deep swallow after taking back the bottle. Their fingers brushed for a moment around its neck. “A parrot would do that nicely, I'd wager. Although it might detract from the monstrous image it’s creating for me.” 

Thomas knocked his shoulder, making them both sway. “Your leg does nothing of the sort.” 

John shook his head, dismissing both the thought and topic. This wasn’t the night for such discussions. “Tell me about London,” he said instead, handing the bottle to Thomas with a nod of encouragement. 

“What?” Thomas said, clearly surprised. “You must know London.” 

“Never been,” John said, totally seriously. 

Thomas laughed again. “Of course not,” he said. “Other than you told me you were born and raised in Shadwell.” 

“Was that before or after the one about Liverpool’s docks?” 

“Before, I think,” he said, turning to grin at John in the pale light of the moon. John was already looking at him and their eyes caught and held on the shared joke. There was a pause where they simply looked before Thomas’ smile faded a little. He went from happy to earnest so fast that John was caught totally off-guard. “I shall miss you,” he said. His eyes were heavy lidded with the drink and the sleepiness it always brought with it. “I wish you didn’t have to run from us.” 

“I’m not running,” he said, throat suddenly a little dry. He licked his lips. “I can’t run. Peg leg, remember?” 

Thomas rolled his eyes, blinking at him. “I wish you would stay with us,” he said, persistent and earnest in a way only the very drunk knew how to be. “We would have you stay.” 

“You’re drunk,” he said, trying to smile around the pit that was opening up in this stomach. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Not ever but certainly not when they were both drunk and so close. 

“Yes,” Thomas agreed, smiling again, softly. “But it’s still true.”

John tried to smile, but wasn’t sure he quite managed it. He wasn’t sure why he said it, the drink, a misplaced desire to cheer Thomas up, his inability to look away from the soft curl of his hair at his forehead, perhaps just a need to say something true, but the words slipped out without him entirely wanting them too. “I shall miss you too.” 

Thomas looked at him, clearly almost as surprised as John was. He blinked slowly in surprise. Then he kissed him. A soft press of lips to John’s. It made the breath catch in John’s throat as a shock of surprise ran through him. But he didn’t pull away, the drink or his own ongoing desire for self-destruction held him in place. 

“Then stay,” Thomas whispered, pulling back. 

John rested his forehead to Thomas’ gently, letting them breathe the same air for a moment. “Okay,” John whispered, even though he knew he couldn’t. What had just happened proved more than ever that he ought to leave immediately. 

Thomas huffed a laugh, pulling back and then shifting so he could lay his head on John’s shoulder. “Liar.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and did the only thing he could think of and placed a kiss to the top of Thomas’ head. He was reminded, again, of Madi and their last meeting. His heart felt so heavy that he wondered how the ship could even stay afloat with it on board. He swallowed passed the lump in his throat. “Tell me about London,” he prompted. “Tell me about your home, before it all went wrong. I want to know about it.” 

There was a pause, but then Thomas did. They finished the bottle of rum, Thomas’ head rested against John’s shoulder. It eased the ache in John’s chest, even though he knew it was a temporary solution. 

They talked of Thomas’ childhood, which might as well have been another world as far as John was concerned. John talked of Liverpool; it was Thomas’ favourite story of his and John brought it out when he needed something he knew for sure would entertain. 

Thomas was asleep before the end of it. John looked down at his mop of hair and bit his lip. He ought to wake him. It was a wonder that James hadn’t already come for him. It wouldn’t do for them to be found like this. But he couldn’t find the will to do it. It was likely his last chance to feel this close to him and he didn’t want to give it away so soon. He was too selfish. 

He fell asleep not long after. 

“Well,” a voice said, startling them both awake in an instant. “This is where you got to.” 

John blinked several times, but he knew without opening his eyes that it was James. His heart kicked hard in his chest, fear spiking through his body. 

“James,” Thomas mumbled. “We finished the rum.” 

“I can see that,” James said. 

John searched it for any trace of anger in his voice, but found none. He wondered if this had happened before; perhaps Thomas falling asleep on other men was nothing so remarkable. He doubted it, somehow.

“It was too loud,” Thomas said, shifting and sitting up. John moved with him, pulling away, trying not to make too obvious a show of it. The last thing he wanted was to appear guilty. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” James said, voice gentle and amused, as he reached for him. 

John looked away, not wanting to intrude on what might be an intimate moment between them. He tried to get to his feet, but he was stiff from the strange position he’d been in, and the rum was making it hard for him to get his limbs to cooperate. He struggled for a long moment, until James reached out a hand and he was hauled to his feet. John wanted to flinch away, worried what James would see this close to him, but reflexes held him steady. He made himself look James in the eye. 

“Thank you,” James said, voice earnest. “For ensuring he was looked after; I forget how he dislikes crowds now.”

“It was no hardship,” he said. “He can’t hold his drink, but there was amusement in that, at least.”

James grinned, teeth flashing in the dim light. John tried not to flinch away from it. He was seized with the sudden bone-deep need to get away. “Goodnight both of you,” he said, already stumbling away before the words were fully out. 

He didn’t hear if they replied, as he made a hasty break for the stairs. His heart was still hammering as he climbed unsteadily into his hammock. He felt queasy, his head spinning. Was it possible that James hadn’t really seen them? It seemed incredibly unlikely, but he had seen no trace of jealousy or anger in James at finding them in such an intimate position. Perhaps it had seemed innocent; it _was_ innocent, he insisted to himself. There was no harm in falling asleep like that. He’d seen plenty of men do so in much the same manner. It didn’t _mean_ anything. 

Even the kiss, now he came to think about it again, wasn’t so incriminating. What did it mean, really? It was just… it was a soft press of lips. Two, if you could count the kiss to Thomas’ head, and surely you couldn’t. Really, neither of them were so different from the casual affection he’d shown to other friends. Hadn’t he kissed his female friends in a similar way from time to time? And it wasn’t as though anything had progressed from there. Nothing between him and Thomas had _ever_ really crossed from platonic to the intimate. Even in all the time they’d shared a bed. The time they’d held onto each other aside, there was no difference between what he and Thomas had shared to any other time he’d been forced to share sleeping arrangements with other men. 

The potential for the difference didn’t actually make the difference real. Just because there was the possibility that Thomas would once have wanted more, that John could imagine it, _had_ in some small ways let himself think about it. That didn’t actually mean it _was_ different. 

The thought let him fall asleep, finally, after he willed his heart to slow and forced his eyes to stay closed. And it let him face James the next time they crossed paths on the quarterdeck without John flinching away. Thomas seemed unmoved, he still greeted John in the same way. He was so unmoved that John began to wonder if he’d forgotten the kiss entirely; he’d been drunk and it was such a fleeting moment, perhaps it truly had slipped his mind. 

But for John, there seemed to be no going back. He found it almost impossible to be in James’ presence. It seemed to burn him. It wasn’t just the guilt of it, of wanting something that was James’. The kiss seemed to have unfurled something in him that he couldn’t now lock away. The feeling wasn’t even new; it had always been a sort of pleasant that bordered on pain to be in James’ presence, it was just that now it was truly uncomfortable. Suddenly he couldn’t not think about what was happening between James and Thomas, couldn’t not think about what Thomas had hinted could happen between him and John. It might have been different if it was just Thomas. If he was simply attracted to someone who was attached, he might have been able to tune out the thoughts. But that it was _both_ of them. It was too much. 

It had always been this way with James, he realised now. He had gravitated towards him, been unable to stay away, even when he was continuously rebuffed. Now he simply couldn't not think about how much he _wanted_ the potential with James. How _that_ was the realisation from kissing Thomas, he wasn’t sure, but the whole situation had been thrown into sharp relief. He had always wanted James in a way that was nothing to do with wanting acceptance or gold, he could see it, now he looked at it from a different angle. All the stupid flights of bravery he’d preformed apparently despite himself. The desperate need to prove himself, even when the rest of the men had long secured his position on the ship. 

He was so very fucked. 

***

The trip back to Nassau was pleasantly uneventful. Thomas’ horrendous hangover aside, there was little to complain about. The mood on board was almost jovial, which was admittedly easier to maintain when the haul was bountiful and casualties few. But, even despite this, there seemed to have been a shift even without their current favourable circumstances. A great deal of it was his own mood, having Thomas at his side. He’d not had the chance to truly appreciate that fact before. The heavy drag of grief that had been his constant companion for a decade had lifted. 

It wasn’t gone. Miranda meant that he might never now truly be at rest again, and he could not, _would not_ , let England’s betrayal of them all stand. He was determined to see Nassau free to ensure Thomas’ legacy and some measure of revenge for them all. He’d thought, at first, in the early euphoria of having Thomas back that he might be free of it. But the thought of what had happened to them, of the last ten years of pain and misery, wouldn’t let him rest. Might never let him rest. And he deserved that. He hadn’t safeguarded them when he should, and now he was the only one that might make matters right. 

But, he couldn’t deny that something had changed once they’d arrived back on _The Walrus_ after Maroon too. Partly it was securing the treaty, another potential step towards achieving his goal had been achieved. But there was no way to refute that it was the easing in his relationship with John too; he no longer felt fury coiling hot and snarling under his ribs at the mere sight of him. Somehow, the anger he’d felt at his betrayal seemed to have drained away. The hurt remained, the sting of rejection sharp when he let himself linger on it. And he didn’t know where they were in regards to the other now: partners or allies or maybe even friends. 

He couldn’t quite make the pieces of the puzzle fit together. The way John had spoken about Thomas had moved him, something in his chest singing out in recognition at his words. John had truly seen Thomas for what he was. He’d felt a strange mix of emotions - excitement, pleasure and something a little like longing - when John had said them. It had been enough to determine that he needed to try and fix whatever was making his relationship with him so broken they couldn't even function as crewmates. Thomas deserved friendship, he deserved devotion and people that saw him as good and worthy of respect. He wouldn’t allow himself to stand in the way of that. 

But the rest of what John had said played on his mind, like something stuck in his tooth that he couldn’t dislodge, no matter how he prodded at it with his tongue. There was something in John’s confession that didn’t quite make sense to him. It seemed to amount to the fact that although he’d cared about James, wanted him to survive the war, he simply wasn’t willing to risk his own life to do it. He supposed he understood that, there had never been much in the way of trust between him and John, there was too much spilt blood, too many double crosses for that. But there was something else, had always been something else - affection, or perhaps admiration, too. He wasn’t sure it was enough to build anything from, whether John even _wanted_ that, perhaps he didn’t given he was leaving again. But, it was enough to form a partnership, to allow him to play the role of Quartermaster and for James to let him. 

He would need to content himself that John and Thomas were friends, and that it seemed to matter to both of them. He might not be able to carve anything for himself from that, but that didn’t matter. He already had much more than he’d dreamed, and certainly more than he deserved. He would make do and use the rest of himself to secure their future. 

But it all made for a strange sort of almost intimacy between the three of them. It started as a way to educate Thomas. Their mostly failed sword-fighting lessons aside, James hadn’t made much progress in explaining how a ship was run, or the strange idioms that went into making up a pirate ship. He decided that the time back to Nassau should be used to remedy that. After the air between him and Thomas had been cleared, his incessant questions seemed to bother him less - it was nice, in fact, to be able to share some of his knowledge with him; it was almost like being back in London. 

Thomas seemed utterly fascinated, asking question after question, as though if he simply knew enough about pirates he might transform himself into one. So of course John somehow got roped into the conversations. He may not have been the one to spin the story of Long John Silver and create the legend, but you’d never know that to hear him talk about it. James tried not to round off the edges of the realities of his life, while also in some small way hoping to spare Thomas from the worst of what he’d had to do in the years they’d been apart. He found himself grateful for John’s presence, who was able to fill in the holes with stories from the rest of the crew. 

James had made the decision, early on, not to get too close to the men on his ship. Partly it was his navy training, he’d been warned off mingling with the lower ranks early in his career, but mostly it was because back then he’d never really intended to stay. He’d never meant to _be_ a pirate anymore than he meant to really become Flint. Keeping his distance made sense. By the time it he’d realised how crucial the men’s support would be, Gates was dead and it was too late. And then there was John, stepping in and capturing the hearts of the men as though it was nothing. So he let John talk about the parts of life on board _The Walrus_ that he’d never had much chance to see himself. It had its own rewards, having John tell the stories: like the way Thomas’ face scrunched with laughter when John started a story he’d told before, but with a new twist. 

So they spent time together. The pirate schooling faded and still they came together, drawn by something that James didn’t want to name. They didn’t do anything in particular, shared stories, and sometimes whatever alcohol was closest to hand. 

Most often James would speak little, instead watching them, the easy way Thomas laughed at whatever nonsense John was spouting, the way John preened when he did it. He pressed down on a smile. He wondered, often, what their time together before they’d come back to him had truly been like. Eventually, he began to ask. 

“How did you make money?” he asked first, settling back in his seat. He’d wondered at that, at first, after John had left with nothing. 

They shared a look, amused and a little secretive. James tried not to smile. “Well,” Thomas said, “after we’d spent what John had, he was kind enough to show me some of the skills he’d picked up in his years of dishonesty and criminal behaviour.” 

James lifted an eyebrow. 

John shot James a look, as though worried that he might be offended he’d led Thomas astray. “He was a quick study,” he said, feigning ease. “Almost like he’d been born to it.” 

Another shared joke, if the laughter in Thomas’ eyes was anything to go by. James didn’t seem to have shared jokes with John, despite their time together. The closest they got was when John had made an off-hand comment about the taste of shark, which had made them laugh together. It was nice. Made him wish, somehow, that he’d found time to create more. He wanted to be able to share them with Thomas, show him that he’d been building a life for himself all that time he'd been gone. 

“It’s a simple matter of putting your case across in the most compelling way,” Thomas said, a little smug at the praise and the knowledge he was good at something. 

“I can well imagine,” James said. Then turning to John, he added, “In London men would hang on his every word.” 

“Thank goodness I had Miranda to remind me of the time I fell off my horse in front of the whole of the Queen’s garden party at every opportunity.” He shook his head. “It might have gone to my head otherwise.” 

“You what?” John said, leaning forward. He seemed almost as fascinated in Thomas’ upbringing as Thomas was in pirates. He seemed to have none of James’ concerns about being inadequate in comparison to what Thomas was used to, no lingering resentment from being shut out of a class that had always looked down on them simply for being born to the wrong family. He wondered at that. It didn’t seem possible that John _had_ been born into money, but he had no resentment about that fact. 

Not that James knew _anything_ about his past. He noticed that Thomas had turned it into something of a game, asking about John’s history only to be met with stories they both knew weren’t true, or if they were, there was no real way to tell them apart from the ones that weren’t. It left a sense of unease in James, though, because there seemed little John didn’t know about them, and certainly Thomas. It left them at a disadvantage, and James never liked that feeling. He was unwilling to push the matter, though, to break the easy peace they’d found for themselves. Instead he asked about easy things, matters that he knew would make them laugh. 

“Surely it can’t have all been plain sailing?” he asked one day, looking between them. 

“You mean other than that he started by kidnapping me for a ransom?” Thomas asked, pouring a drink into his glass. 

“I would class that more as a rescue,” John said, easy and quick. 

“Yes,” Thomas said. “The chains did give the impression of a rescue.” 

“James here had me in chains for quite a bit of our early acquaintance too,” John said, grinning. “It’s perhaps a better start than you might imagine.” 

“Did he?” Thomas asked, eyes glinting. 

“He’d stolen something of great value from me,” James said, voice sharp. The memory didn’t really sting, now, but he wanted to end whatever Thomas might be about to ask before he started. “So, what else?” he pressed. “There were no other difficulties between you?” 

“Well,” Thomas said, “he snores. Much worse than you, James, and that’s _before_ he’s been drinking.” 

“I do _not_!” John seemed so affronted that James couldn’t quite suppress his snort of amusement. 

“John,” Thomas said. “I slept barely a wink some nights because of the noise. The least you could do is admit it like a man.” 

“If you weren’t asleep then you _were_ stealing the blankets on purpose!” John said, triumphant for a moment before seeming to realise what he’d said and looking utterly horrified. 

“Sharing a blanket?” James asked, raising an eyebrow and leaning toward John. 

John opened and closed his mouth, looking a little panicked.

“Leave him be, James,” Thomas said, kicking him under the desk. “It was a necessity. John tried to insist that I slept on the floor, but that had grown wearing over the last decade and I would have none of it.” John relaxed, which he should have known better than to do, for the moment Thomas saw it, he continued, “And besides, we hardly ever woke tangled together under the sheets, did we John?” 

James grinned. It was clear to him that Thomas liked John, found him attractive, and was unable to resist the teasing. James might have found it troubling, before. But John had shown no sign of caring about his and Thomas’ relationship. Indeed, he seemed to enjoy Thomas’ attention. James found no jealousy in him for it. Thomas was his in a way that could never be denied, that he found John interesting was as understandable as it was unimportant to what he and James had. The two thoughts were not related. 

Which is why when Thomas told him, drunk and loose, that he’d kissed John in a misguided attempt to make him stay, James had simply kissed his forehead to settle him and thought little more on it. John was set to leave and it would pain Thomas, that was his primary concern, not the nature of Thomas’ affection for John itself. 

He mentally side-stepped the question of what reflection of his own feelings for John it might have had. There was no point in considering such things. John had made his own feelings clear and even if he hadn’t, James was not looking to put that sort of trust in someone that was not interested in investing anything back. But he could be friends, or whatever approximation they had found between the three of them, until John deemed it time to leave them again. 

****

Things were better. James seemed easier in himself, less liable to suddenly stare off into space as though trying to solve some unknowable riddle. As for himself, Thomas seemed to have found a rhythm aboard ship; he was useful and the men seemed to have mostly accepted that he was staying, even if he wouldn’t say they were warm to him. But they would not go against John and James, their combined sway over the men might have been troubling were it not so captivating. They looked to them both for guidance in all things, and took their word as almost almighty law. 

It made him wonder what the two of them might have accomplished had John not decided he had to leave. He thought he understood it now, what John had so feared. It seemed that together he and James might have been unstoppable, or at least everyone might have believed so, until suddenly they weren’t. He’d seen that, the intoxicating power of feeling truly united in purpose and powerful enough to bend the world to your vision. He wasn’t sure John was right to leave, exactly, but he could see now why he’d been so disquieted. 

But despite the better mood, and growing closeness, there was still a barrier. James was holding back, keeping John at arm's length. Self-protection, no doubt, for James still felt John leaving was a rejection of him. He tried to broach it but was rebuffed at every turn. It was frustrating in a uniquely painful way. Seeing your loved ones hurt themselves needlessly was an odd sort of torture. 

He was reminded of Miranda, when they’d first met James. Her despairing looks at him, as he brushed off her questions on his opinion of James, had been frustrating at the time, but he understood them much better now. It had taken him far too long to admit just how deep his feelings went. Then even longer to act on them. He still sometimes mourned the time they lost to his cowardice. They could have had months longer if only he hadn’t let fear keep him back. 

Their conversations about John were circular and seemingly unending because of that. He wanted to let it go, but every time he saw James laugh, or bite down on a laugh, at one of John’s stories he felt a pang of grief. Perhaps John thought he hadn’t noticed the way he stared at James when they were in the same room, how his eyes followed him, and how he seemed to drink in his every word, but he was wrong, if so. Thomas saw it all and felt increasingly frustrated that John and James seemed so determined _not_ to see it.

The kiss had been stupid, a miscalculation both of his own ability to hold his alcohol and John’s feelings for him. Not that he thought John _wasn’t_ attracted to him, but rather because he knew he didn’t want to act on those feelings. Be that because of James or his determination to leave he wasn’t sure. And besides, Thomas didn’t actually want anything to happen. Not yet. Not when everything was so new and John and James were so newly on speaking terms. The kiss had been a miscalculation and better left forgotten. But he couldn’t deny that it had sparked something. The potential between them now seemed to be burning, low and almost unnoticed, but still there just beneath his skin. He could ignore it for the most part, but it made it hard to concentrate on why he shouldn’t nudge James towards admitting what had been between him and John. 

Perhaps that was why as the conversations went on, he found it harder to control his own temper. Harder not to try and provoke a reaction from James. 

It came to a head after John was unceremoniously asked to leave James’ quarters before dinner. It didn’t matter. John usually ate with the rest of the crew. But Thomas found James’ insistence that they not eat together baffling. Some of James’ lines were so firm they might as well be solid walls, but Thomas was still surprised when he found one. 

“James,” Thomas said, voice firm, as soon as John was out of the room, “I don’t understand why he couldn’t have stayed.” 

“He eats with the men,” he replied, voice low and eyes hard. It was a warning, but Thomas had never been good at heeding those. 

“But we were having a nice time-”

“Which we can continue later.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense.” 

“John eats with the crew,” James repeated. “I eat alone or with you. It’s a time for family.” 

Thomas stopped short, surprised. “And John’s not that?”

James gave him a flat stare. “He’s my quartermaster and your friend. But I don’t want him at my dinner table.”

He was so surprised that he was struck dumb for a moment. Then he was, all at once, deeply offended on John’s behalf. “But cares for you.”

He watched James' body tense with irritation. “After a fashion,” he granted, through gritted teeth. 

Thomas shook his head. “Surely you can’t be so naive,” he started. “Are you seriously suggesting you don’t know how he feels?” 

James gave him another blank stare. 

It was enough to unleash the words that had been building for weeks. “He cared for you! Do you not see how remarkable that is? A man so determined to be alone he fled at the mere sign of emotions? He _cared for_ you. You cannot pretend that you didn’t know it. Or,” he paused, almost unsure that he ought to continue, “that you didn’t feel the same.” 

James turned to him sharply, anger clear in every line of his face. “Careful.” It was the first time that he had threatened even the merest hint of violence. 

Thomas felt a thrill of victory, layered only slightly with trepidation. “It was not a betrayal to find comfort, James, you know I would never have felt that. You cannot help how you feel. John is… He’s a unique man. There are few that I would think worthy of your attention, and I’m _glad_ you found him. I’m sorry that you hurt each other. I’m sorry the circumstances led you to such dark places. But I’m not sorry you found each other.” 

James watched him. “You like him.” 

“I’ve told you as much.” He paused. “I understand that you don’t trust him. I can see why and I do not doubt you are right not to. But, yes. I like him. Very much.” 

“You want-” He started, eyes wide before breaking off. They hadn’t discussed it, even after the kiss. 

“I want only what you want.” Thomas kept his voice level, needing James to understand completely his intent. “Know that I would never, _could_ never, do anything that would cause you harm.” 

“But, if I-” He broke off again, licked his lips. “You would.” 

Thomas shrugged. “I am open to whatever brings you the most joy. That is all you deserve, and I hope you can trust that I am always, forever, on your side. I will do nothing that you do not want. I am yours first.”

He could see James struggle with the words. He seemed to be turning each one over, checking for falsehoods. He left him to it. Patience was a new skill he’d managed to find over the lost years. He actually found himself waiting hardly at all before James was on him, kissing him ferociously. Thomas was only surprised for a moment before he was kissing him back just as passionately. He poured all his feelings, all his love, but his frustration too, into the kiss. James matched him at every turn as they shed clothes. 

Afterwards they lay, panting, on the floor.

“I’m intrigued,” Thomas said, lightly, once he’d gathered enough breath to speak, “from a purely scientific perspective, what part of the speech elicited that response.” He turned to see James, still flushed and beautiful at his side. “I’d like to be able to replicate it as often as we’re both able.”

There was a long pause. “All of it.”

“ _All_ of it?” he needed to check. 

A nod, stiff and hard-won. “But, it is a mere fancy.” James rolled toward him, face now serious. “However much the _idea_ is appealing, the reality… I cannot trust him, Thomas.” He watched him for a long moment, perhaps looking for some resistance. “You, however, I do completely. Know that I do.”

Thomas smiled. “I understand. But the idea…” 

“It’s fire,” James said, although his eyes were interested.

“Yes,” Thomas said. “But don’t we _like_ dangerous ideas? I rather thought that was our thing.” 

“When they are ideas,” he said. “You paint very pretty pictures.” He touched a hand to his mouth, fingers pulling at his bottom lip for a moment. “It’s when we decide that we can make them a reality things tend to end badly.” 

Thomas almost laughed. “Very well,” he agreed. “But I reserve the right to paint those pictures again. Some time in the future.” 

James laughed. “I never doubted it.” He rolled into a sitting position, apparently looking for his clothes, before turning back to Thomas, face suddenly soft with affection. “And thank you. For understanding. For being with me. I really did mean that it was _all_ of the speech. It… It means a great deal.” 

Thomas reached out, taking James’ hand and squeezing. “My love,” he said, “I am always yours.” 

James huffed. “Enough,” he said, “we’re both of us too old to attempt that again, even if I didn’t have a million things to attend to.” 

Thomas laughed. “Very well, you caught me. Go and do your Captainly duty. I shall be here when you return.”

***

They made it back to Nassau with little issue. John was pleased to see the little island where nothing much seemed to change, despite the constant political and governing upheaval that took place so regularly that it hardly seemed worth repairing the buildings from the last battle. But they did. It was people’s way, once you call somewhere home you had little choice but to keep making it work, to patch up what you could and live with what you couldn’t. 

_“Long John’s back.”_ It was like he could feel the words rippling through the crowd. He tried to stand taller, righted his walk so there was no limp. It hurt, but that was what was expected of him. He glared at the men that stared openly at him until they looked away. 

He needed to find Max to secure the selling of the haul. Nearly all the men that were not left on board followed him - James and Thomas included. It was meant to be a continuation of his tour of all things being a pirate, but John thought it was more a chance for James to show him around the island properly. Nassau now had an entirely different atmosphere from the last time they’d been there, just after the battle. It was more settled and sedate. Or as sedate as it ever got on Nassau. 

John looked around, aware of Thomas at his back, and tried to remember what he’d made of it when it was all still new to him. Perhaps nothing, he’d never had any intention of staying and one port really tended to blend into the next if you weren’t on the lookout for specific differences. Still, he wondered how Thomas saw it, if it looked drab and run down, or seedy and threatening while to John it just felt familiar, almost welcoming. 

The brothel was hardly changed when they entered it, even down to Rackham lounging near the back of the room, Bonny at his side. He nodded at him and began to wind his way over. Thomas didn’t follow, instead sticking with James as he began to talk, perhaps explaining some intricacy of the establishment to him. John very deliberately didn’t turn back to look at them. Instead he slouched into the chair opposite Rackham with a grin. 

“Welcome back,” Rackham said, his customary half-smile firmly in place. “I hear the prize was worth the trip.” 

“I swear,” John said, smiling, “if we could harness wind half as fast as gossip on this island we’d be able to circle the globe in a day.” 

Rackham grinned. “People like to tell me things.” 

“You buy them booze,” John countered, but smiled with him. “But I suppose I can’t fault the method. How’s the island been?” 

“Much the same.” He looked around. “The treasure continues to be used for rebuilding, which goes only a little better than the last time I tried to do something for this God forsaken rock.”

“People do tend to get in the way of even the best plans,” John agreed. He looked around, wishing that he’d gotten a drink before sitting. “And Vane?” 

Rackham arched an eyebrow at him. “Charles is as he always is,” he answered, which wasn’t exactly comforting but presumably meant that he wasn’t about to renege on any of their deals. “I see your new friend is still with you,” he said, nodding over to where Thomas and James were standing. 

John watched them, probably for a moment too long. They weren’t standing close together, certainly no closer than anyone else. But, somehow John could still see the intimacy between them. The soft curve of James’ lips, the incline of Thomas’ head towards him. Some unidentifiable emotion swelled in his chest at the sight of them. It wasn’t quite pain, but it certainly wasn’t pleasure either. He looked away, finding Rackham’s eyes trained on him intently. He carefully didn’t react, leaning back in his chair. There was nothing that he could have been able to discern from one look and to react now would be to give something away. 

“And you, Bonny?” he asked, looking past Rackham and under the ubiquitous hat. “Are you well?” 

“The fuck you asking for?” 

John grinned. “Just being polite,” he said, easy. “And how is Max?” 

Bonny tensed, her face thunderous. It didn’t answer the question, but it did deflect very nicely from James and Thomas. Rackham stepped in smoothly to move the conversation on and John relaxed. They chatted for some time, John finally acquiring a drink, swapping stories and gossip. Billy was still apparently keeping his men busy, although without a Governor to rail against, he was going to need to find a ship or something for them to do. Currently they seemed to have formed what might be called a standing army, intent on defending the island. 

“And who’s paying them?” 

Rackham raised an eyebrow. “As it stands, the lovely Max and Featherstone have made an arrangement to finance some of the men from her - larger than previously - cut of the goods she’s selling on for us.” 

He leant forward. “And we’re happy with Max having her own army?” 

“Happier than you and Flint,” Bonny growled.

John sighed, but he took the point. Rather her than virtually anyone else he could think of. “I suppose until we know where Rogers is and what he plans, it makes sense to be prepared.” He rubbed a hand over his face, pulling himself to his feet. “Talking of which, I better pay her a visit, pass on my congratulations.” He should have gone immediately, ensured a decent price for the haul, but Thomas had seemed so excited to be off _The Walrus_ that he’d been swept along with him. 

Rackham nodded to him and Bonny looked up, her face a mask. It passed as niceties from them and John took it as such. He looked over again at Thomas and James; they were engaged in conversation, faces serious but not worried. He wanted to go to them, tell them where he was going, ask if they’d still be there when he returned. 

He turned and left for the back room without a backwards glance.

Max received him with something, that while not quite warmth, wasn’t animosity either. The thought occurred to him there had never been another time in his life that so many people would care to ask if he’d lived or died from one month to next. Even if it didn’t affect them directly, they might ask after him, have some small feeling about his fate. It was a strange, almost disquieting, feeling. She didn’t even drive him down too hard on the price, he might have thought it were a personal favour were she not in such desperate need of allies on the island. 

She also had news. There were internal conflicts on the island. Some of the men who had been freed from the plantations in the first raid had formed a sort of crew of their own. They were being led by a man named Julius, who had a fearsome reputation and apparently little in the way of desire to treaty with Billy or anyone else on Nassau. They were no friends of the pirates.

He tried not to sigh too obviously at the news. The good price for the haul now making a lot more sense. This was another problem laid at the feet of Long John Silver, no doubt they’d been waiting for him to return to solve the issue. He truly hadn’t expected his time on Nassau to be relaxing, but this proved it. 

By the time he was back in the bar, the patrons were rowdy and loud in their cheer. Thomas had somehow found himself surrounded by Max’s girls. James was nowhere to be found, like John, he was rarely allowed an evening’s peace without some matter that needed his attention cropping up. Thomas didn’t look in the least perturbed to be surrounded by prostitutes after having not even seen a woman for weeks. In fact he seemed delighted. 

“He’s popular,” Rackham said, appearing at his side. Had he been watching Thomas this entire time? John made a mental note to warn him that he needed to be careful when they weren’t on _The Walrus_. Not that he thought Rackham meant him any harm, not currently at least, but it paid to know that people were always watching, waiting for some weakness that they might exploit at the most opportune moment. 

“The new ones always are,” John said, bland. “Shame that the Black Beard deal doesn’t stand for new recruits since Gates passed.” 

“He’s a proper gentleman, by all accounts.” Rackham matched John’s own blandness, but his interest was obvious. 

John gave him a hard look. “Puts on the graces of it, but I’d have him as a serving boy at most. Have you seen him? Done nothing but hard labour his whole life.” 

Rackham paused as though looking Thomas over. John was suddenly grateful that he was wearing something that showed he had, indeed, been doing a great deal of outdoor, hard labour. He made an imposing figure, even if something about his face failed to make him seem actually dangerous. “But still, he’s in favour with Flint and the crew like him.” John waited for him to get to his point, which he did with only a short dramatic pause. “You’re not about to be replaced as Quartermaster are you?” 

Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. He hadn’t considered what Thomas might do once he was gone. He wasn’t popular enough, currently, to get nearly enough votes. But, was that what James had in mind? It would certainly secure his position. It made sense. And there was really no reason for John to suddenly feel so tight in the chest. He’d not really considered the hole he might be leaving in the crew, in James and Thomas’ lives, but he’d been sure there _would be one._ But, perhaps not. Perhaps once he’d gone it would be a relief. Not a cripple aboard with Randal dead and him gone. No dead weight at all. 

Before, in every other past life, that thought would have been comforting. Now it hurt. He was sure he’d remember these men for the rest of his life. He’d always remember the particular expression on James’ face when he was making a joke at John’s expense. The thought that he’d leave nothing behind in return hurt. 

Rackham was watching, waiting. He plastered on a grin, perhaps too late, but there was nothing to be done about it now. “Not if he wants to keep his head,” he said. “Come, let me buy you a drink. I want to hear about the plans for the rebuilding.” 

The strange melancholy didn’t lift from him for the rest of the evening. Rackham was as diverting as always and provided a good distraction to keep him from dwelling too much. But the odd sensation, something like grief, lingered. He didn’t look over to where Thomas, some of the men, and occasionally Flint, sat. He could have gone to join them. He should have, but found himself reluctant. They didn’t seem to need him and it was probably better they both learnt to be apart. 

He was already well on the way to drunk by the time Thomas was leaning over the table. “Mr Rackham,” he said, voice soft, a little slurred. He hadn’t drunk enough for it to truly affect him since the night he’d kissed John. Perhaps he did remember it after all and was trying to be more careful in future. “A pleasure to see you again.” 

“Mr Smith,” Rackham said, loud and brash. “You’re not leaving? I had hoped that we might talk some. I’m rather afraid John here has quite distracted me this evening.” 

Thomas smiled, polite but distant, back. “Another time,” he said, with an incline of his head. “I was just about to wish our good quartermaster here a goodnight.” 

John tried to smile at him, but he wasn’t sure if it looked a little too feral, and was showing too many teeth. “Good night, Mr Smith,” he said, his voice loud with forced cheer. “Enjoy your night.” 

There was a moment where they looked at each other, perhaps like Thomas was going to say something else, but in the end turned to leave instead. John watched him go. “Drink?” he said, forcing himself to turn back to Rackham. He suddenly had the strong desire to drink until he couldn’t think at all anymore. 

It must have been some hours later when a voice whispered in his ear, making him jerk suddenly. Or try to jerk, his body didn’t seem to want to cooperate. He was slouched in his chair, head dropping forward. “Come on, up you get.” 

“What?” he managed, turning his head and making the room spin alarmingly. 

James loomed at him through the haze he didn’t seem quite able to blink away. “I’ve got us rooms in the inn,” he said, his mouth turned up in a smile. “There’s things to do here tomorrow and I think we might all benefit from a real bed.” 

John blinked, trying to take in the words. “Rooms?”

“Yes,” he said, voice low and soothing. “Come on, Quartermaster, it’s time for you to go” 

“I can get there myself,” he protested, as a hand began to lift him from under the armpit. He found himself on his feet, swaying a little, but mostly self-supported. 

“How, when you don’t know which room?” 

John didn’t really have a response to that, but he still struggled in James’ grip. He didn’t want help. He would be able to make the trip himself. He was only a little drunk and only a very slightly an invalid, he would be fine. 

“Yes,” James said, and John had the sinking feeling he’d spoken his thoughts out loud. 

“I don’t want you to see this,” he muttered. 

“I’ve seen worse,” James said, voice still soothing and low. “After your leg you said all sorts of things that I’ve not held against you in the least.”

John turned his head, heart hammering in his chest, until he saw the smirk on James’ face. “Fuck you.” 

“Come now,” James said, still amused by his own joke, “is that any way to speak to the man that’s renting you a room? The second best in the place?”

“Second?” he asked, meant as a joke. And then he realised. Second. Which meant there was only one room nicer. A series of scattered and confused thoughts shot through his mind all at once. “Careful,” is what finally made it out of his mouth, “people can’t know he’s important to you. Not yet.”

The hand on his arm pinched as it gripped him tighter. “I’m aware of the need to protect Mr Smith’s standing,” he said, voice now low and hard. “He’ll be staying in the room opposite yours.” 

“Oh,” John said, and then before he’d thought it through, “So my room’s nicer?” James looked at him. Thomas’ room was probably not that nice because he wouldn’t be staying in it for very long. “This conversation is making me seasick,” he muttered, looking away as they made it out onto the street. 

“That will be the rum,” James said, apparently back to amused. 

John blinked at him. It was hard to make out his features in the dark, but he didn’t need the light to know what he looked like. He could map his features blind. Could sketch his expression from a hearing just a single word. How had that happened? How had someone taken such roots in him? He hadn’t even realised it was happening. But James Flint seemed to have taken such a firm grasp on him that he no longer knew if he would ever be able to untangle himself. Didn’t really think he wanted to. 

He should never have come back 

_He should never have left._

The thought appeared, fully formed in his mind, like it had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged. He shouldn’t have left. He should have stayed. He should have let Flint tell him everything. Should have let him in. Should have trusted him. Should have kissed him. Should have taken a stand and _done_ something. 

He shook his head, suddenly feeling utterly miserable in a way that only came over him when he was utterly drunk. He didn’t want these feelings. He didn’t want these thoughts. Usually he was better at hiding from them. They were useless. The past was done and he needed to move on. Wallowing was the coward’s way. Besides, if he hadn’t had left neither of them would have Thomas and he didn’t want that. Not really. 

James deserved to have him back. They deserved to have each other. John deserved an empty bed and the potential to vomit over his own boots before he even got in it. They should be together right now, enjoying their first night alone in weeks. Why was James even here? He could have sent anyone to fetch him. 

The thought irritated him. He didn’t want pity. He should never have said what he did on Maroon. He didn’t want James to feel sorry for him and his useless feelings. 

“Is he waiting for you?” he asked, head swimming. “I bet he’s waiting. You shouldn’t have come for me, I could have found my way.” He struggled again, but James’ grip didn’t falter. 

“He sent me,” James said, righting John’s footing as he swayed. “Come on, nearly there.” 

The words hit and sunk low in John’s belly. Of course. James hadn’t thought of him at all. It was Thomas playing games again. He swallowed. His chest was tight. He didn’t speak again, not trusting himself to say anything at all. James guided him to his room and deposited him on the bed - far more gently than John might have expected. 

“Sleep well,” he said, backing toward the door. “I hope your head doesn’t trouble you too much in the morning, we have business.” 

They had to speak to Billy. And Vane. Flint needed to speak with Max, too, most likely. John needed to see the men, show them that Long John Silver was returned. They needed to take care of Julius. The thought made him close his eyes in pained anticipation, before rolling onto his side. 

He found himself facing a wall and wondered, insanely, if James and Thomas were on the other side of it. It was like he could almost feel their presence through the plaster the longer he stared at it. What would they be saying? Would they talk before or after they fucked? Would they read together? Would they talk about him, perhaps? Discuss how well he negotiated the price with Max? He dismissed the idea with such a sinking feeling that it made him close his eyes tight. 

They weren’t talking about him. They weren’t thinking about him. They had each other. A love that had lasted through a decade apart, through _death_. It was a story for the legends and John was just a cripple that no one even trusted. They were not thinking about him.

He curled into himself, taking a steadying breath. These feelings would pass, he told himself fiercely. They always passed. He needed to sleep. In the morning, without the alcohol and exhaustion, he would be able to pack these feelings away again. There was no need to bathe in their wretchedness now. 

He took a slow breath. Let it out. “Get ready to sleep,” he said, low and firm. He sounded like Long John Silver. 

That’s what he was here, on the island, he supposed. And perhaps that was better. Long John Silver would never care about not belonging. He _was_ Nassau. This was _his_ island. He needed to remember that. 

“Get up,” he said again, “you pathetic cripple. Get up and get ready to sleep.” 

He lay there for another moment trying to control the beating of his heart and the emotions struggling to overwhelm him. He gave the wall another long look. 

And got up. 

_TBC_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter, things are finally heating up and people nearly talk about their feelings. 
> 
> I'm agarlandoffreshlycuttears over on tumblr, feel free to come say hi.

Damn Thomas. He must have known what it would be to face John now. After they’d… after Thomas had said, had _offered..._ The thoughts kept playing around and around in James' head, unable to settle. He felt restless, embarrassed, almost anxious. James had _meant_ what he’d said: it _was_ dangerous. He could feel it. 

Not that he blamed Thomas for talking of it. That was who he was; he never met a complicated idea that he didn’t want to explore. But speaking of it out loud, even in vague terms, had breathed the idea to life. It was a living, breathing, thing between them now. One that John knew nothing of. The thought was uncomfortable. Strange. And not as unwelcome as he would have liked. 

It was strange that he'd even entertained the notion, but he suspected that was Thomas' doing in more than just bringing it up. Thomas being returned to him had led James to begin to imagine things that were impossible. Because he was sure it _was_ impossible. John was leaving for one, and even if he wasn’t, there was no reason to assume he would want anything like Thomas was suggesting. 

But knowing that it was impossible didn’t seem to help when John talked and James couldn’t stop watching his damn hands. Thomas had surely _known_ this would happen. 

It had been a torturous day in many regards. James had never really been cut out for the intricacies of politics; that was what Thomas did. He enjoyed the outset of it all, he enjoyed the thrill of bending people’s wills to his own. But, once done, he found he had little patience for the way most people seemed to be so changeable in their alliances and goals. Once James was set to something, he saw it through. He had spent his life frustrated that others were not nearly so consistent. 

“This is the reality of running an island,” Thomas had remarked to him when James had sighed heavily at the thought of the meetings. “It can’t all be chasing ships and taking gold from England.”

He was right, but that didn’t mean James was going to enjoy it. He’d found his mind wandering as Rackham and Max had droned on about the trivialities of the people’s complaints, and how they might be kept happy. His eyes had drifted to John, who seemed - for all the rum he’d apparently consumed the night before - alert and attentive. James watched his hands as he spoke and wondered if he’d managed to sleep the night before. 

He’d seemed in a strange mood as James had taken him to his room. There was no thank you, just a quiet sort of mulishness. That was the way with many drunks, but never usually John. He tried not to wonder on it, as John was a mystery to him at his most lucid, so he fared little chance of understanding him when so drunk he could barely stand unaided. But, despite his sloppiness, he’d looked incredibly striking, his hair mussed and dark against the pillows and James couldn’t stop reliving the memory of it. It meant that every time he looked over at him, his eyes got caught and held too long. 

It was still happening that evening, after they’d joined the other men in the tavern. John had played his part well all day, and was apparently continuing to play it now. Thomas had joined his small group, and the two of them were holding court, trading back and forth. This might be one of their fabricated stories of their time on the road, or perhaps a retelling of their most recent prize. It didn’t seem to matter to the men, who were hanging off their every word. James smiled, pleased to see them working so easily together. He tried not to envy it and instead be grateful that they were able to work together with the crew. 

Even without his somewhat complicated emotions, he liked to watch them together. They were so different, with such different approaches and the effect was incredibly compelling to his eye. They bounced off each other, seeming to anticipate the other’s next words or mood. When one smiled the other instantly mirrored it, like causing the amusement was the sole reason for their own. 

“Well,” a voice said at his side, startling him out of tracing the lines of Thomas’ arms as they rose to illustrate some point. He whipped his head around to find Rackham leaning casually against the pillar beside him, a frown on his face and eyes turned sharply on Thomas and John. James hadn’t even noticed his approach and he cursed himself silently for the lapse in concentration. “That’s a complication,” he finished, nodded toward Thomas and John.

James sighed. 

“The girls said that Mr Smith didn’t seem interested in their wares,” Rackham continued, his voice casual, but they triggered a strange ringing in James’ ears. He turned to stare at Rackham, his heart starting to hammer in his chest. But Rackham was hardly paying him any attention, as he continued on, “But, I did not expect his attentions to be turned to Mr Silver. Still, he doesn’t seem to mind does he?” 

James’ body went rigid in a moment, fury swelling in his chest, cresting on the sudden terror that flooded him. There was no possible way that Rackham could actually know for certain anything at all about Thomas, and he certainly not what he might or might not feel for John- And even if he _thought_ he knew something, surely the majority of people would think it preposterous if tried to suggest it. But that didn’t matter, the idea of it, _the story_ , was danger enough. 

Rackham seemed at last to notice the look on James’ face because he raised both hands in mock surrender. “I, of all people, understand-”

“I don’t know what the _fuck_ you’re talking about, but you should stop. Now.” His voice was ice, his hands balled at his sides in a bid to keep himself from lashing out. 

“Do you think anyone here would care?” Rackham asked, looking genuinely surprised. “My concern was simply that you might not want your closest allies to be closer still to each other than they are to you. I couldn’t give a solitary fuck who they take back their bunks at night.”

James hands itched to wrap around Rackham's throat, to choke the air from him until he stopped talking. The fear wrapped around his heart and squeezed. But he held himself still; there was no point in drawing attention to them or in giving Rackham's words more weight than he already had. He needed to play it off as stupidity, that was the sensible course of action. He forced himself he huff out an unamused breath. "Your concern is very touching, but I think my captaincy is safe for the moment."

Rackham shrugged, as though unbothered by James' dismissal; he was no doubt used to it. "I'm sure you know your crew best," he said, after a moment, with the clear implication that it was John and Thomas that were currently holding most of his crew's attention across the room and not him. 

Thankfully, whatever story they had been telling must have finished because John was already on his way over to James. "Are you ready?" he asked, when he was close enough, rescuing him from having to think of a reply to Rackham. 

He nodded, eyes still on Rackham. "Let's go," he said, and turned without a departing word. 

Rackham didn't say anything as they left; perhaps his dismissal coupled with John's submitting to James' decision on whether they were to leave had made his point adequately. But the encounter left him feeling off-balance and shaken in a way that surprised even him. Usually Rackham was not nearly so good at getting under his skin. 

“Well,” Thomas said, breaking the silence they had been walking in for some time, “are you going to tell us what Rackham wanted that has you so quiet?” 

James looked at them both; they were watching him carefully and he forced himself not to fidget under the attention. “No,” he said, voice firm. “It doesn’t matter, he won't repeat the mistake.”

He couldn’t bring himself to explain, he didn’t want to panic either of them and he certainly didn’t want John questioning his relationship with Thomas. James would just have to keep a close eye on the issue in case he needed to intervene. 

His priority had to be protecting Thomas from gossip that might cause him harm; he'd failed to realise the danger of not doing so before in London and he would not repeat the mistake. He knew, realistically, it didn’t matter if people assumed he and John were fucking in Nassau in the same way it did in England. Or perhaps it mattered exactly the same: only in so far as knowing it would give someone an advantage over them. So, he couldn't let himself be complacent. The power that Flint - but especially Long John Silver - wielded would probably be enough to keep anyone from making a move, but he couldn't rely on that. 

He swallowed and looked away from Thomas and John’s enquiring gazes. He would need to be more alter if he was to keep them all safe.

***

John looked at the men gathered on the beach as he passed, their eyes following him as he walked by. James had elected to stay on Nassau for two weeks or more and he was still trying to adjust to not being at sea. _The Walrus'_ last prize was big enough that the men would hardly notice their longer than usual stay and James was keen to ensure that the island was running as he deemed it ought to.

Somehow that translated into John needing to been seen, often and conspicuously. He didn’t like it, didn't like so many people watching, but that was the price of being Long John Silver. It was exhausting and there was no rest to be found from it while on Nassau. After his misguided attempt to blot out his feelings with drink, he’d felt wrung out. While, true to form, he’d mostly been able to push down his feelings the next morning, he'd been left feeling more alone than he’d felt in a long time. On top of which, the running of island - for reasons he couldn't fully understand - was increasingly connected to him. That would be more responsibility than he rightly wanted at the best of times, but now it seemed even worse. There was word that Rogers was still at sea and had changed course unexpectedly. They didn’t expect him to be able to rally any real force quickly, but that didn’t mean they shouldn’t be prepared for an assault on the island. It made for a tense and not altogether pleasant atmosphere. 

And there was still the issue of Julius' men and the unrest between them and the pirates. There was increasing tension on the island and Billy and Max's little rag-tag army was not helping. So John called for Madi. In truth, he hadn’t been sure what else to do and the uncertainty of how he ought to respond to everything that was being handed to him made him miss her more than ever. 

She arrived a few days later and John met her in Max’s office which she had been gracious enough to allow him to use, given his lack of anywhere else to go. They were paying extra, obviously, but it was worth it. It gave him - and James when he had reason to use it - a standing that might otherwise have been lacking in their dealings. 

“My princess,” John smiled, giving a little bow as Madi entered the office. 

She smiled at him, eyes warm as they had remained since they first became friends. John’s heart clenched at the sight of her, suddenly aware again of the grief that still clung to him at having left her. He shook it off. He had her friendship and that was all now. Madi wasn’t a woman who looked behind her. It was yet another thing that he admired her for. 

She nodded her greeting, gesturing for her guard to remain outside the door. He inclined his head in understanding and closed the door behind her. She looked around the room, somehow managing to communicate that she thought little of it, but was too polite to say so. John couldn’t help his smile. 

“So,” she said, her eyes searching the room. “This is where my father spent so much of his time.” 

John was caught off-guard for a moment; he’d almost forgotten that the office had been Eleanor’s, let alone how closely she worked with Madi’s father. Her searching expression made sense now and he wondered what she was seeing; perhaps she was imaging her father here, working so hard to prop Eleanor up to keep his people safe. A man constantly in two places at once. It must have been some sort of torture for him and Madi had been robbed of her father as a result. This fucking island seemingly had no end to what it would cause people to do to those they loved. 

“Yes,” John said, trying to read her reaction. She didn’t seem upset, more intrigued. "He was a smart man, very well respected here.” 

She turned the corner of her mouth up. “As far as was possible for a man like him in a place like this.” 

John looked down. “Yes,” he said, simple. There was nothing else to say. 

“You brought me here to reason with Julius?” she asked, as she arranged herself in the chair across from John.

He watched her as she moved, her easy grace was as captivating as ever. “Well,” he said, “he won’t treat with us at all. We’re willing to be generous, perhaps even offer his men positions on board ships, if they want it.” 

Her gaze was steady and unreadable. “You want him off the island?” 

“I think it might be more true that he wants us off of it,” he said. “Which, he won’t be able to do, but we’d rather not have internal conflicts.” 

“And you think I will take your side in this matter?” Madi’s tone was a little challenging but not outwardly hostile. 

“I think you want him to go back with you to Maroon and to bolster your numbers - they’re mostly strong men, well armed.” He watched her, but her face continued to give nothing away. In the end he leant back in his seat and shrugged. “We would be very happy to provide passage for them and any provisions they needed in the short term, until they can be usefully put to work to pay for their own keep.”

Madi stared at him. The moment stretched taught and long between them, John tried not to hold his breath. She smiled, let out a soft breath that might have been a laugh. John relaxed, allowing himself a mirroring smile. “I’d forgotten,” she said, looking away. 

“What?” 

“How good you are at this,” she answered. “There was a reason everyone thought us such a matched pair. I’d forgotten that, too - made myself forget, perhaps.” There was another moment, this one tinged with regret from both of them. 

John chose to dispel it the best way he knew how. He laughed. “Forgetfulness where I’m concerned is probably the greatest gift you could wish for." He waved away any response she might have had, putting the conversation away. “So, you’ll help?”

Madi nodded. “I will talk to him." But then she shrugged. “I make no guarantee that he will listen.”

John tried not to smile too obviously at the thought that anyone would be able to deny her when her mind was set on something. “Thank you,” he said, inclining his head. 

“And you,” she said. “It’s a generous offer, and we appreciate it.” 

“I’m glad to help in any way I can.” They both ignored the obviousness of the lie. He shifted, prepared to offer her some lunch when he noticed the stiff way she was sitting, as though waiting to speak. He waited. 

“I have been hearing whispers,” she said, eventually. “Since I arrived.” 

“Whispers?” he asked, wondering how this could have happened in the mere hours she’d been on the island. The network of ex-slaves must be very effective. He made a mental note of that. 

“The ex-Governor is searching for a man,” she said, looking intently at John, as though she knew this news was going to be important to him. “He’s regrouping, apparently, and has put out word that he needs someone to help him complete his plan. There is a large reward for finding him.” 

John shifted in his seat. “What man?”

Madi gave him a look, calculating. “Apparently he’s an escaped prisoner, very dangerous. He holds information that could be vital to the battle he hopes to wage here.” 

They both knew who this must refer to. But John didn’t want to say so out loud, like it might make it somehow more real. He shifted in his seat, affecting an unconcerned look. “Any more information about him? That could describe a lot of people.” 

“Nothing too revealing,” she said, again meaningfully. “But he was said to be aided in his escape and that he might be trying to reach Captain Flint, that they are close friends and Flint will do anything to protect him.” 

John wasn’t sure he was successful in hiding his reaction to that news. He suddenly felt cold right through. He’d know, rationally, that whoever had taken Thomas was likely still looking for him but somehow with Thomas reunited with James he’d started to think him safe. He was wrong and he felt both stupid for letting his guard down and terrified that it might already be too late to do what needed to be done to keep him safe. “You think people will somehow think Thomas is this man?” John asked. It was clear that she knew who it was and there was no point in pretending, even if it made him uncomfortable. 

Madi shrugged. 

“No one can know,” John said, his heart stuttering at the thought Thomas might be targeted. “If anyone realises who he is, the chance of them selling the information…”

Madi smiled at him, her expression one of sheer delight. He wasn’t the only one that had come to their meeting with a plan and he knew from her expression that he wasn’t going to like it. “You know, John, I think that a story might be in order.”

***

John hated the idea. It was terrible. It was utterly, utterly, ridiculous. For one thing he couldn’t even imagine _suggesting_ it. Certainly not to James, who would run him through before the sentence was even complete. Not to Thomas, who would surely just _look_ at him and _know_ how the idea was churning John’s stomach with so many emotions he wasn’t even sure which was the most prevalent. 

_But._

But. It wasn’t a _bad_ idea. Not really. It might even be the best idea. Or, at least, the _only_ idea which elevated it somewhat. There was no use in trying to hide the fact that John and James had been cagey about Thomas since the start. Both of them had clearly gone to great lengths to not only retrieve him but then to keep him safe. 

What, fortunately (or unfortunately for John) was unclear, was to _who_ Thomas was important. That really only left one option. Spin a story that Thomas was in some way entangled with John, throwing off any suspicion that he and James had history, that James was affected by him. Billy would know different, perhaps a couple of _The Walrus_ crew, but John was certain that if he willed the story into being, there would be little or no resistance to it. 

But knowing what he had to do and actually _doing_ it were very different. He delayed for hours, pacing the office and trying to think through all the potential implications. Then he tried to think of the best way to explain it to Thomas and James. He planned and planned. 

Then of course he blurted it out the moment he was inside James;’ room.He barely waited for the acknowledgement of his knock before he was opening the door and walking in. He didn’t dare look at either of them as he relaid Madi’s tidings, and then her plan. 

He kept it simple and to the point. And then he looked at the floor with all the intensity he could muster so he wouldn't be tempted to look at either of the men in the room with him. 

There was a long silence where John waited for an explosion of anger or laughter. Instead, to his utter shock, James said softly, “It might work. Rackham already made implications that the two of you…” He trailed off and there was a long, taught moment where none of them reacted. 

“Well,” Thomas said, his voice unnaturally bright, when it became clear that James wasn't going to continue, “I suppose that will make it easier.” 

“You’re _agreeing_?” John asked, his tone about as incredulous as he felt. 

“I was under the impression that it was your recommendation. Did I misunderstand?” Thomas asked, his brow creasing. 

“Well,” John said, feeling petulant and uncertain why. “No. I just thought you might have some misgivings.” 

“Why?” Thomas seemed so genuinely perplexed that John suddenly felt stupid. “Okay, I thought _he_ might have some.” He pointed at James, but didn’t dare look over. “Men can find that sort of proposition unsettling in my experience.” 

“You’ve had cause to lead people to assume that you are romantically entangled with someone else’s partner?” Thomas seemed so amused that it made John want to kick him in the shin. 

“No,” he said, “but-”

“Do it.” James’ voice was shockingly firm and John startled a little. 

“Do it?” He couldn’t help but turn to look at him this time. 

“We cannot risk anyone deducing who Thomas is,” James said, his words clipped and clear, “and there are few people that wield enough power to bring him under their protection. None of the men will go against you, even if they don’t agree with your choice in bedmate.” 

_Choice in bedmate_ seemed to echo around the room for another long moment. None of them seemed to want to look at the other. But John couldn’t quite look away entirely from James. He’d expected anger, and he did seem annoyed, certainly. But there was something else. He _wasn’t_ jealous and he certainly didn’t seem angry with _John_ which was unexpected in the extreme. It was a puzzle and he longed to uncover the meaning of it. If only there weren’t so many other pressing issues. 

“What do you propose?” Thomas said, voice delicate and now not quite so amused. Another puzzle, for he seemed to have picked up on James’ mood and changed his own. 

“Nothing that would seem,” John paused, carefully considering his words, “ _too obvious_. This should get out in a way that suggests we did not mean for it to.” 

Thomas nodded his understanding. 

“We should be seen together more," he continued, having already considered a plan in some detail before arriving. "Perhaps an early morning exit from one of our rooms. I’ll issue some orders that you’re to be watched while ashore and protected from any that may cause you harm. I’ll ask this as a personal favour to me.” 

There was another nod from Thomas and then a twitch of his mouth. “So, I shouldn’t recite any poetry under moonlight at your door? Swoon as you walk by?” 

John rolled his eyes, wondering if he was actually turning as red as it felt like he was. “You may do those things, but they will not help sell the story.” 

“Fine,” James’ voice cut through the light moment, drawing their eyes back to him. He shifted in his seat, looking agitated. “Keep us informed of your progress. Does anyone else know of this?” 

“Madi.” There was little use in lying and it would gain him nothing to hide her involvement. “It was her idea.” 

James looked unhappy and like he was going to ask if they could trust her, but obviously thought better of it. 

“It must also seem,” John started, because he really didn’t seem to have any self-preservation, “that you are aware of the-” his eyes flicked to Thomas’ still amused face, “ _situation_ and are content with it, at the very least, if not supportive. This will help to ensure that no one thinks I have interrupted anything.” He sincerely hoped his face remained more neutral than he felt.

James’ face flickered and again he fidgeted where he sat. But he didn’t speak, just gave a short nod. 

“We will discuss the particulars,” Thomas said smoothly.

John wasn’t sure who ‘we’ meant, but didn’t want to stay long enough to ask. So he nodded. “Right. Good. I will-” He gestured to the door and then quickly exited it shutting it firmly behind him.

***

John waited for a few hours for one of both of them to decide they had made a terrible mistake and change their minds. But nothing happened and in the end John was forced to assume they meant to carry on with the plan. And, with that being the case, John saw little reason to delay. He asked Thomas to join him at the tavern later that evening. He arrived early, keen to get on with it and not wanting to give himself more time to come up with all the ways this was a terrible plan. One that may not actually solve any of their issues. One that may make more. 

The worst part, of course, was that some part of him - some small, treacherous part - felt a pang of excitement at the thought of what they were doing. Partly it was the theatre of it. John could never resist putting on a good show. Partly it was his on-going longing for someone that he could truly call his own, one he could never shake and had only grown since he boarded _The Walrus_. Even a pretence of someone choosing him, wanting to be with him, made that pathetic little part of him throb with pleasure boarding very closely on pain. Then, of course, that it was Thomas made it better and worse. Better because he found some pleasure in the thought that it was him. Worse because he found some pleasure in the thought that it was him. The conversation they'd shared about whether they might have been happy if James had never found them played over and over in his mind. 

No. That was the short answer that he'd come to. James was not a man you simply forgot. Wasn’t the sort of man you walked away from. Recovered from. John had learnt that very painfully over the last few months and Thomas had actually experienced what it was like to be loved by him first hand. They would never have been complete together, not without James. Still. John hadn’t been lying either. He did believe they might have made a good partnership. They might have found some comfort, even joy, with each other. In what fashion John wasn’t sure, but the thought was still there, like an itch he couldn’t scratch but also couldn’t ignore. 

None of which mattered. It was a simple story, certainly not stranger than Long John had been. Perhaps closer to the truth. It was a disquieting thought and he was considering leaving entirely and telling James the whole thing was off, when the door opened and Thomas entered. John blinked at him. He’d dressed up. _The bastard._ He didn't exactly look fancy, but his clothes and hair were unusually clean and tidy even for him, and by the standards most of the people in the tavern he looked positively regal. He’d shaved too. It made him look younger, and John was struck by the line of his jaw as he looked around before his eyes landed on John. 

He smiled as he came to stand at the table, pleased and quiet. John wanted to kick him in the shin again. Instead he plastered on his most pleased smile and gestured for Thomas to sit. 

“Well,” he said as he pushed back the chair at his side, rather than opposite him, with his good leg, “don’t you look… _neat.”_

Thomas grinned, looking for all the world genuinely pleased at the slightly teasing note in John’s voice. “I thought,” he shrugged, “it’s been so long that I’ve actually just gone out to be…” He looked around as though lost for a moment, then clearly shook off whatever thought - or memory more likely - had struck him. He smiled brightly at John. “I thought I might as well make the most of it.” 

John felt a strange pang at Thomas’ words. How dire their lives were when a simple drink between friends, even one staged to help keep one of them alive, was cause for such celebration. The urge to run flickered into life in John’s chest again. He ignored it. “Well,” he said, throwing an arm over the back of Thomas’ chair, “we ought to get to it, then.” 

“I’ll get us something to drink,” Thomas said, eyes dancing with obvious amusement. 

John watched him as he wound his way to the bar. Thomas seemed to have a knack of getting served within moments of reaching any bar. Perhaps it was his height, but no one seemed able to ignore him for long and so he was soon returning, now looking pleased with himself as well as better dressed than any ten men in the place. 

“Well,” he said, placing a bottle and two glasses between them, “here we are.” 

“Here we are,” John agreed, unable to hide his smile. 

“Now what?” Thomas asked after pouring them both a drink and taking a long swig. 

“Now you obviously and demonstratively show how much you are enjoying my company.” 

“Demonstratively?” Thomas asked, looking over the glass. “I thought we were going to be subtle?” 

John shrugged a shoulder. “I merely write the directions, you choose how best to follow them.” 

“I see,” Thomas said, eyes flicking over John for a moment, catching on his lips and then darting to his eyes again. John shifted in his seat. This was such a terrible, stupid idea. Neither of them looked away. 

“Silver.” The voice was loud, perhaps to be heard over the noise of the tavern and John looked up in surprise to find Paxton looming over the table. He looked pleased to see him. “Didn’t realise you would be out and about. Some of the men were just setting up a game.” He gestured towards the other side of the room where some playing cards seemed to have been produced. 

John nodded a greeting shortly. “We aren’t looking for company tonight, Paxton,” he said, keeping his face carefully neutral as he spoke. 

There was a pause, Paxton was a good man. He’d been on the crew longer than most and had never seemed unwilling to follow an order. His eyes flicked to Thomas, who ducked his head to take a drink, although it didn’t hide the pleased look on his face. 

“Right,” Paxton said, a little confused, “right you are, Silver.”

“Next time,” John said, smiling and trying to show there was no ill-will between them. 

“See you around,” Paxton said, after John didn’t elaborate any further. “Smith.” He nodded at Thomas, who raised his glass in response. 

Thomas leant close as Paxton walked away, and John noticed that some of the other crew had turned to look over at them. John resisted the urge to lean away from Thomas. He was close, he could feel the solid warmth of him down his side. John’s hair was probably brushing his face as he leant in to speak. “Nicely done, Quartermaster,” he said. That name was reserved for when Thomas genuinely thought John had done something clever or well. John was a little annoyed at his own flush of pleasure at the title. “Do you think that will land?” 

John turned his head to look at Thomas. They really were very close, he could see the darker specks of blue in Thomas’ eyes. He had a strange moment of realising that James got to look at him like this all the time. When he first woke up, when he was upset. Whenever he wanted to. He licked his lips. “It will have planted a seed. One they don’t even know is there,” he corrected. “It will take time, and some careful watering to make it sprout into anything they would care to name.” 

“It doesn’t bother you?” Thomas asked, his eyes searching John’s for a long moment. “I would not put you in a position you are uncomfortable with, John. Not for my sake, not when we don’t even know if it will help.” 

John laughed, he couldn’t help it. “Thomas, this is the least of the things I do on a daily basis that give me pause in the name of keeping my crew safe. If I can protect a friend with a simple story, I see no reason not to try.” 

Thomas watched him for a long moment, eyes still searching for something. Then he smiled again and leant back in his seat. John tried hard not to miss the proximity. “You are a good man, John. An excellent friend. I hope I am able to repay your favour one day.” 

Words, jokes, formed on John’s tongue. He bit them back. There was no need to encourage Thomas more than he already had. “Your friendship is payment,” he answered, more honestly than he really meant to. 

Thomas seemed to realise it and his smile softened into something smaller, more genuine. “Thank you.” 

“Come on,” John said, raising his voice, wanting to break them out of the mood they’d found themselves in, it was too sincere, too honest. This was a game and John needed to treat it as such. “Drink up. We’ve got a night of revelry to attend to.” 

****

Thomas arrived back at his room drunker than he’d intended to be. He knew James was likely still awake, perhaps waiting in his own room for Thomas to return. He considered not going to him, really he ought to avoid James as much as possible now. But the alcohol was thrumming through him, making him loose and in no mood to ignore his own desires. 

“John got you back in one piece,” James said, as soon as he was through the door to James' room. He barely started at the opening of the door before he spoke, so perhaps he’d been listening out for his approach. The thought was pleasing. 

Thomas grinned as he approached where James was sitting at the desk in the corner of the room. “He was the very epitome of a gentleman.” 

That earned him a slightly lopsided smile. “I somehow don’t believe that.” 

“You know he thinks you’re going to go mad with jealousy over this, don’t you?” Thomas asked, changing the conversation with less grace than he might with a little less alcohol thrumming through him. He sat on the edge of the desk, nudging James legs open so he could lounge between them. James sighed with feigned frustration but allowed himself to be manhandled. 

“He doesn’t really know me very well.”

“Not in every manner, no,” Thomas agreed. He watched James for a moment, weighing his options. “Do you suppose we made a striking pair tonight?” 

James looked at him, eyes starting to narrow. “I didn’t see you, I can hardly be a fair judge.” 

“Shall I tell you how John was dressed so you can better picture it?” 

“No,” James said, but he was starting to shift in his seat. “Should you be here? We don’t want to ruin the story you’ve spent all night spreading amongst the crew.” 

Thomas waved him off, seeing that James was attempting to derail him. “He was in all black.” 

“Thomas,” James said, tone a clear warning, but he reached out to place both hands on Thomas’ thighs. 

“He didn’t tie his hair back,” he said, leaning forward. “It was very soft.” 

James’ eyebrows lifted at this. “You had cause to find that out?” 

He couldn’t contain his smile. “We had to sit very close.” 

“Are you going to keep talking all night or take me to bed?” he asked, hitching his hips up as Thomas’ hands travelled up his thighs.

“What do you suppose would have happened?” he asked, ignoring James’ impatience, “If it _had_ been a real meeting of lovers?” 

“You’re asking me if I think John would have fucked you tonight if this wasn’t all some game to keep you alive?” 

The tone was a little accusing. Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Well?” 

“I think I can think of several other things for your mouth to be occupied with that are not this teasing.” 

He laughed, the pleasure of James’ grumpy tone making the sound bubble up and out of him. “Getting to you?” 

James’ hand came to the back of his head. Thomas leant into this touch, eyes fluttering shut. “Come here,” James asked, voice low. 

Thomas smiled. And did. 

***

John’s life was turning into something that would not have even made sense in the strangest of farces. His act with Thomas continued, with no comment from anyone that he could discern. Still, they kept it up, while the business of running the island continued unabated. As did the running of _The Walrus_. 

The careening wasn’t _not_ needed, but it also happened to offer a good distraction for the men. The busier they were kept, the less time for contemplation and for coming up with ideas that might cause trouble. He’d only seen a careening done once before, and then it had had very little to do with John - until he'd had to help save Randall and Flint from being crushed. Hopefully this would go easier; this was much safer, he knew, as the location much better suited. Still, tipping a ship wasn’t ever without its difficulties. So John needed to be there. He wasn’t really overseeing it so much as he was being _seen_ to care about the fact the men were hard at work. 

He’d sent Thomas off to help. This was the sort of task that was vital in ensuring Thomas would bond with the crew, aside from it also being good experience. He hadn’t seen him since, though, having handed him over to DeGroot to oversee the specifics of the task. It wasn’t that he was worried, the men had shown absolutely no sign of having an issue with Thomas. But, John couldn’t shake the desire to make sure he was okay, and really it would help the story if he seemed a little too invested, so he started to make his way down the beach towards _The Walrus_. 

He saw James before he was even halfway there, and paused to frown at the scene before him. James seemed to have stopped whatever it was he’d been doing and was standing almost completely still, staring at the men. A flicker of worry passed through John. Had James seen something not to his liking? Something dangerous? He quickened his pace to reach where he was standing. He opened his mouth, ready to ask what the issue was, or perhaps to defuse any issue that was about to arise. But the words never made it out of his mouth, for it became very apparent what James was looking at. 

Thomas. 

Well, a group of men, actually, pulling ropes up the beach, just as last time John had seen this process. But it was clear that it was Thomas that had caught James’ attention. He was working with the other men in the heat, and had naturally taken his shirt off, wrapping it around his head, not unlike Billy might have done in similar circumstances. John could see, even as far away as they were, the sweat gathering on his skin, making it glisten in the sun. He was tall, standing nearly a head above some of the other men and his arms were strong - he was no Billy, but the muscles on his arms still flexed clearly, rounded and defined under the tan that was starting to cover them. It certainly made a striking image, John had to give him that. He could see the sweat starting to trickle down from his neck, running over his broad shoulders. It made the eye trace his bear chest, down until it tapered neatly at his waist. There was a light smattering of hair over his belly, leading down and disappearing into the top of his trousers. Thomas’ face was set in concentration, the effort required to move _T_ _he Walrus_ was not to be underestimated and he was clearly making sure to put his long, strong frame to good use. 

“Fucking hell,” John said, not actually meaning to speak, but unable to keep the words in. “Who knew he was hiding all of that under his shirt?” 

James didn’t startle next to him, but he did whip his head around to glare at John, who plastered on a grin. It made it look like he’d intended to tease James rather than being a genuine question of surprise. All the time he’d spent with Thomas he’d _known_ that he was strong. Had even seen him without a shirt on. But this was an entirely different sight. No wonder James has been struck dumb. The Thomas he’d known back in London probably hadn’t done a day’s manual labour in his life. This new version of him must still be a surprise. And apparently not a bad one if the flush on James’ cheeks was any indicator. 

“Can I help you with something, Quartermaster?” he asked, voice hard and pointedly polite. 

“Just checking in on the men,” he said. “Same as you. Or, well, not quite the same.” He smiled again, hoping that the teasing would hide the lie. 

There was a long moment and then something very unexpected happened. James smiled _._ No, he _smirked._ “It’s good to see them so hard at it,” he said, voice still polite but now his eyes were sparkling with mirth. 

John was left speechless. He had seen James make jokes before, had seen him tease people. But never like this. There was a shared intimacy in this joke, he was letting John see a part of him that hardly anyone knew, was allowing himself to make light of it. The change in his demour was remarkable. He looked younger, softer and so unbearably handsome that John had to look away. 

Unfortunately that meant he was looking directly back at Thomas, who had chosen that moment to stop working and was mopping his neck with his shirt. John swallowed. “Yes,” he managed, his tone frustratingly distracted. 

James was quiet for a blissful moment before he leaned a little closer and said, “Can you ask Mr Smith to see me in my room once his work here is no longer required?” His voice was steady, his face a mask of cool collectedness. But John _knew_ , with startling clarity, what was going to happen the moment Thomas went to him. 

He swallowed again and turned to look at James. His face was back to his usual mask of slightly irritable expectation of his orders being complied with. He still looked very, very handsome. The utter bastard. “Yes,” John said, “of course.” 

James just nodded smartly, and turned and walked back down the beach, leaving John looking after him. He stood for a long moment, watching him leave before managing to wrench his focus back to the beach and the task at hand. 

But the thought followed him through the rest of the day. He passed along the message as requested, fearing what _not_ doing so might imply. But he’d seen the soft smile on Thomas’ lips when he’d heard it, had seen the anticipation light his eyes. Then Thomas was no longer really needed; he made his goodbyes to he men and then John who was left watching him leave the same way he'd watched James do it. But John _knew where he was going and why_. The thought haunted him through the evening. He tried to follow the conversations the rest of the men were having all around him, but it was all but impossible. 

So it was inevitable that he was going to think of it when he finally sank into bed. He’d tried to keep himself busy enough, long enough, that sleep would claim him quickly. That was foolish. All it actually meant was that his body was taught, pulled tight with exhaustion while his mind buzzed ever on with the same few thoughts. 

He wondered what they were like together. He’d seen James’ passion in battle. Seen Thomas be tender. Which was it? Both? He shook his head and then wriggled in place. He screwed his eyes tightly shut, like that might keep out the thoughts. 

It didn't help, and he was soon thinking of James and Thomas again. Had the desperation they clearly felt when they first reunited faded? Was it still fast and needy, or were they able to take their time? How long had they spent exploring each other? 

He squeezed his thighs together, hoping the pressure might relieve the ache he felt between his legs. It didn’t help. He should get up, take a walk. A swim, perhaps. He shifted again. 

He knew that he really ought to just get it over with. There was really only one way this was going to end. He couldn’t get the thoughts to stop and there was no chance that his body was going to stop reacting to them. If he just gave in, maybe he could sleep. Maybe it would be enough to just indulge himself once and then he could move on. 

The story he was telling himself seemed flimsy in his own head, but it was enough to allow his hand to move between his legs. He bit his lip, letting the only previously half-formed images materialise more fully. They were still frustratingly vague, the blurred idea of blond and red hair, strong, hard bodies pressed together. But it was enough to have John arching up into his own hand, teeth pressing painfully into his bottom lip. He couldn’t settle on an image he truly wanted, hands or mouths, or just rutting bodies. They all flickered through his head in a confusing montage. He felt hot, stretched tight, constricted in his own skin. 

His toes curled against the material under him, his hand moving faster as he sought release. He wanted to make a noise, wanted to somehow make the images in his head real. Finally a clearer image came to his mind, James from earlier in the day, grinning at him, eyes sparkling. And that was it, he was spilling into his own hand with a rough pant. He breathed heavily for a moment in the dark before opening his eyes again. 

He was so, _so_ , fucked. 

****

James watched as John and Thomas walked the beach together. John was gesturing as he walked, clearly intent on his story, while Thomas smiled indulgently. James suspected that whatever lesson John thought he was giving, Thomas had learnt already; James had given him a comprehensive tour of the island almost immediately as they first arrived. DeGroot, too, seemed to have spent a good deal of time telling Thomas everything there could be to know about the island’s history. 

It was also possible that whatever John was saying wasn’t even telling Thomas something that was true. Thomas didn’t care in the least if so, judging from his pleased expression and the easy way he swayed into John’s space. It was hard to tell, even knowing them as well as he did, if anything in their behaviour was part of the story they were attempting to spread or if it was all authentic feeling. Perhaps they themselves didn’t even know. For Thomas, James knew, it was a lot less artifice then he’d let John think it was. 

Still, it didn’t seem to be working. The men clearly knew that John and Thomas were friends, that John favoured Thomas’ company more than almost anyone else’s. But that was it. James was not privy to most of the gossip onboard, but John assured them there was little gossip on this matter to be had. It vexed John, who was used to being able to spin stories with ease. 

James found himself more pleased with that; he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were playing with fire. Thomas being tied to either one of them, indeed, even the idea of anyone thinking that Thomas liked men, sat like a stone in James’ stomach. He’d let himself be lulled by the idea that society didn’t care, really, about what went on in their bedroom before and Thomas was playing just as dangerous a game on Nassau as he had been in London. More so. The men here wouldn’t bother with faked accounts madness, Thomas would be dead before he even realised the danger, if someone willed it hard enough. If someone wanted to punish Long John Silver, for example, attacking the much more vulnerable Thomas would be an easy way to do it. That Long John’s shadow was so large was as dangerous as it was useful in that regard; the bigger it got, the larger the chance someone would grow restless and want to challenge it. They ought to not linger in Nassau for that reason alone. 

As James watched, Thomas knocked his shoulder into John’s, making him stumble and then shove at Thomas in retaliation. With anyone else, a tussle might have broken out, even in play, but Thomas simply laughed, pleased to have gotten the rise out of John that he’d wanted. It made James smile, something warm and happy inflating in his chest. 

Even with his trepidation, he found himself enjoying watching them together. He liked seeing the flush it brought to Thomas’ cheeks when he came to James after being with John, the way he lit up from the inside when he talked of him. In John too, he was seeing something entirely new. His regard for Thomas was clear in his every action; his desire to protect him, to ensure his safety and wellbeing made James want to reevaluate everything he thought he knew about John. That he was self-interested could hardly be denied, but that he had thrived so clearly with the other men around him, and now especially with Thomas to guide, suggested that John was far more loyal than James could have guessed. He was putting himself in potential harm’s way for Thomas. Truly, James would have blanched far more at spreading this story far and wide were he in John’s position. John seemed hardly bothered by it. Thomas preened at that. James was pleased for him, even as his own shame at not being able to provide the same coiled hot in his stomach. 

His feelings for John remained complicated. Knowing that John loved _The Walrus_ ’s crew, that he’d apparently cared for James even, but that it hadn't prevented him from leaving, still stung. At first his desire for John to leave again was partly so he didn’t have to deal with the rejection that clung to him whenever he looked at him. Now, with their truce in place, and their growing friendship, he no longer knew what he wanted. Not that what he wanted would matter, John seemed set on leaving and James didn’t want to fall back into his old pattern of assuming he would be able to keep him in Nassau when he didn’t want to be there. Still. The hope that he might change his mind grew with every lingering touch between John and Thomas. 

“Captain!” Thomas called, as they made their way toward him. “We’re not late are we?” He sounded a little breathless, perhaps from laughing, or perhaps it was just his pleasure at the way John was brushing against him as they walked. Their hands were nearly touching at their sides. James couldn’t seem to look away from them: it would be such a small movement for one of them to link their fingers. He found himself wishing that they would. 

He blinked, remembering that he’d been addressed. “No,” he said. “I was just on my way back when I saw you on your evening stroll.” 

“Thank you for waiting,” John said, eyes flicking over James' face, a little frown forming between his eyes. 

John looked at him like that often, like he couldn’t work James out. There was also trepidation in his expression; he was still concerned that James would fly into a jealous rage if he accidentally overstepped. James had no idea how to reassure him, or if he even ought to. There was a strange balance between the three of them now. It was a partnership, of the truest kind. There was real trust - there _had_ to be for this ridiculous plan to work. James was even sure that they could call it friendship. But there was more, too.

It was almost impossible to miss the way John looked at Thomas when they were laughing together, or when Thomas let his touch linger a little longer than was needed. That James enjoyed watching that, enjoyed the thought of John _wanting_ Thomas, was the source of much amusement to Thomas. James wondered if John knew it too. He hoped not, for surely he would find the idea deeply uncomfortable. Whatever he might have said on Maroon, John’s regard for James was complicated and there was no reason to assume that it leant to anything beyond friendship. And there was no way to find out that wouldn’t lead to their ruin if the answer was no. Truly, James would rather never know than to overstep. How Thomas had ever been brave enough to kiss James in the first place, he would never know. The situation between the three of them was precarious and still so fragile that he didn’t want to even look at it too directly for fear it might all fall apart. 

He shook himself. He needed to brush away the thoughts, dwelling wasn’t helping him. “You are welcome,” he said. “I see that there were many people out this evening to observe your walk.” 

Thomas rolled his eyes. “For all the good it does us.”

“They do seem resistant to the idea,” John agreed gravely. “You may be stuck with me awhile longer, Thomas, if things keep on this way.” 

“I should hope so,” Thomas said, archly. Then he grinned suddenly at John. “Then again if old Mr Knight never thought anything of us sharing that room all that time, perhaps it’s a lost cause.” 

John laughed. “He was half blind and I think he had a fancy for you,” he said. “I think we’re lucky he never thought anything was going on, I’d have been dead come morning.”

James knew they were talking about the inn they’d been staying in before Thomas had been taken again; they’d made similar jokes before. He liked hearing of their time together. But it had started to ache, just a little, to see them grow ever closer together. This story they were weaving was pulling them ever closer and James wished, foolishly, that he could be a bigger part of it.

“Are you suggesting that you would have lost a fight with an elderly man?” Thomas asked, as they began to walk again, making back towards _The Walrus_. James fell into step behind them. 

“I’m suggesting that he would have poisoned my stew and you’d have woken up to a corpse.” John’s voice was deadly serious, which never failed to make Thomas laugh. The sound of it curled, happy, in James’ chest. “No doubt he’d have been there to comfort your manful tears.” 

“Tears?” Thomas asked. “For you?”

“Captain,” John turned, face serious. “Can you tell Mr Smith that it is unbecoming to talk to his quartermaster in such a way?” 

James smiled, pleased, to be included. “Do you think I have some sway over him when you do not?” 

“Honestly,” Thomas said, “you both act as if _I'm_ the troublesome one amongst the three of us.” 

“You are,” John and James said, united for once in their conviction. They turned to each other, surprised that they’d spoken in unison and then back to Thomas’ outraged expression. Their laughter carried them back aboard the ship. 

****

“It’s not working.” John didn’t try to keep his frustration out of his voice.

It had been _weeks_. They’d been forced to leave Nassau to take a prize, eventually. It had been a fast trip, less than two weeks. He and Thomas had made a point to spend as much time together as possible on the ship. It had been a pleasant sort of torment. John had been unable to _not_ think of what he’d imagined. He couldn’t help but see Thomas differently now they were pretending to be more than friends, it created another layer of intimacy between them that was both much too much and not nearly enough. And James was everywhere. He seemed to be watching them. There was no malice in him that John could detect, but he was there whenever John seemed to turn around. It was making his skin itch with something that almost felt like anticipation. It was also fraying his every nerve. As was the fact that he and Thomas appeared to be doing this little play for no one but themselves. John wasn’t sure if he could bear it if this was all for nothing. In desperation, he’d paid a visit to Thomas’ rooms the moment they were back on Nassau. He’d barely entered the room before he started talking. "Everyone seems to know we’re friends," he continued, shutting the door a little more forcefully than was needed, "that we like each other, but any other inference beyond that seems totally beyond them.” 

Thomas looked amused where he was sitting at the small table in his room. “Well, people tend to have very fixed ideas about who people are and what that means for who they choose to take to their beds. It can often work in your favour.” He shrugged. “I understand it is not a benefit in this circumstance. Couldn’t you just,” he gestured, “tell someone?” 

“Tell them what? That I’ve started fucking the new guy?” The words felt strange the moment they were out of his mouth, too frank, almost dangerous. He hurried on as he slumped into the only other chair in the room, “Why would I even do that? I told you that it needed to get out in a way that made people think we didn’t want them to know.” 

“We could be discovered.” 

John lifted his head, not wanting to meet his eye, but needing to see his expression. He appeared totally calm, face a mask of serious consideration. “Discovered?” John shifted in his seat. 

“People will often refute anything they have not seen with their own eyes, especially things they do not want to believe. If you think we must have the men believe you and I are lovers, then we will need to show them. Or, just one of them and allow him to do the rest.” 

“No,” John said, voice flat. 

“No?” Thomas sounded genuinely surprised. “I’m not suggesting that we must have sex, John. I merely meant we might arrange for someone to see us in a more intimate moment.” 

“I said no,” John said, anxiety rising in him. He wasn’t even sure entirely why, but his skin was starting to prickle, hot and uncomfortable. 

“I heard you,” Thomas said, sounding unusually annoyed. “I’m simply unsure _why_ not. I understand that you don’t find-” He stopped, perhaps embarrassed or uncomfortable, but he was never that easily put off a subject. “I’m not going to molest you, John, it can be quick. I suspect even the _suggestion_ of it will be enough to-”

“For fuck’s sake, Thomas, will you leave it?” John’s voice was much louder than he’d intended and it startled both of them.

Thomas looked at him for a long moment before he nodded, his face a mask of carefully concealed hurt. “Yes,” he said, his voice very quiet. “Of course, I shouldn’t have-”

“That night,” John cut in, voice tight, but unable to let Thomas think that his discomfort was anything than what it really was, “when you asked if I was going to kiss you.” He took a deep breath and forced himself to look at Thomas, but not quite meeting his eye. ”I was, I think. I didn’t realise it at the time, but-” He shrugged. Irritable and uncomfortable under Thomas’ unreadable gaze. “I’m not sure that I would have ever done it, I’m not sure I’d have even realised I wanted- But you weren’t imagining it. Not in the way I let you believe.”

“I see,” Thomas said. He didn’t look surprised exactly, but there was none of the victory in his expression that John had feared there might be.

“That’s why it’s a terrible idea,” John forced out. He wasn’t going to back down now. There was no sense in not laying out all the facts, otherwise they’d just be back having this conversation again before he knew it. Thomas needed to understand that it was dangerous and they could both agree that it might unbalance what was already a very fraught and uncomfortable situation for them all. “We cannot-”

“Would you still like to kiss me, John?” 

The question startled him so much he looked up. “What? Of course not.” The lie was so natural that it hardly felt like one at all. 

“I see,” Thomas said again. “Then I see no ‘danger’ at all. If it was just a passing moment of madness, then-” 

“You know it wasn’t,” he snapped, furious that Thomas wouldn’t just play along. They both knew the moves, this simply could not be the first time Thomas had had to manage something like this. Well, perhaps not exactly like this, but there was simply no way someone hadn’t developed feelings for him that he didn’t reciprocate. John took a deep breath, willing himself back under control. “You know it wasn’t. And given that I have no desire to be flayed alive by James, the danger is very real. You should know that. You saw what he did to the men holding you, and that was just-” He shook his head. 

“Is it death you fear, then, not losing James’ affection?” 

“What?” 

“A simple question, John,” he said. “Are you really worried that James would fly into a murderous rage or that it might upset the balance of your relationship with him when you have only just begun to mend it?” 

“What difference does it make?” 

“Rather a lot.” He paused, and gave John a long, assessing look, before he continued. “Did you have occasion to know my wife before her death?” 

The topic change might have surprised him, but he’d spent a lot of time studying Thomas. This was designed to keep him off-guard, get him to reveal something. It wouldn’t work. “No,” he said, “she died before James and I were… on better terms.” 

Thomas nodded. “A shame,” he said. “You would have liked her.” 

“I’m sure,” he said, keeping his tone carefully neutral. 

“Did you know that she was having an affair with James before we left London?”

John raised his eyebrows. “That was what everyone was told after they locked you up wasn’t it? As a cover for you and James?” 

He nodded, face serious. “It was. It was also entirely true.” 

John did startle then. “What?” he asked, unable to keep it in and then cursed himself. He wasn’t to be drawn in. He knew better than this. 

Thomas smiled, this time a little sadly. “Miranda was always better at going after the things that she wanted. That she knew would make her happy.” 

“Easier for her than you to go after it, too,” John couldn’t help but point out. 

“Depends on your point of view,” Thomas said easily. “But regardless. She made her move first and I was happy for her. I was not a husband to her in that way, and I would not deny her any happiness.” 

“But then you fell in love with him too,” John said. 

“I was in love with him from the first moment he called me out on my rudeness during our first conversation.” Thomas smiled, clearly far away. “I was just…” He shook his head. “It’s not my story to tell and, anyway, it is not relevant to this conversation. But in the end there was the three of us.”

“The three of you,” John repeated. It wasn’t actually such a shock. Everyone knew about Rackham, Max and Anne. It seemed to have almost worked for them. “How did-”

“Absolutely not,” Thomas cut him off, clearly seeing something in John's expression that he didn't want to indulge. His voice was stern, but his eyes shone with amusement. “The details are not yours to have.”

John sighed and let the topic drop. “And what am I meant to take from this little anecdote, exactly? That you were happy for your wife and the man you loved to fuck and that’s meant to offer me some great enlightenment why exactly?” 

“Love is beautiful, the greatest gift we can be given, and is to be treasured. I am not in the business of stifling it. Not in myself or in others. James feels much the same way.” Thomas shrugged. “But, my point was that his jealousy of what we do, or what we pretend to do, is not going to be an issue here.”

John had no response to that. The implication was clear and Thomas obviously wanted John’s response to more than just his plan of staging a kiss in public view. That didn’t mean he was about to play along, though. “It will need to be after a night of drinking,” he kept his voice low, tone even. “To make it seem as though our guards have simply been let down.”

Thomas didn’t visibly react for a moment, but then he relaxed ever-so-slightly. Perhaps he had truly thought John had some moral problem with kissing him, outside of the getting gutted like a fish issue. “That would make sense.” 

“It won’t be easy to make it seem natural,” he said. 

“I’m sure between us we can manage something.” 

John sighed. “Yes, I’m sure we can.” 

***

John wondered at his life sometimes. By his own design, he had lived many already. Most had been more eventful than he would have strictly liked. But now, this current life, was surely the strangest anyone had ever lived. He continuously found himself in situations that he knew going in were stupid, and worse, against his own best interests, and yet he persisted. 

This ruse with Thomas was the prime example. It was stupid in its very conception. He hadn’t even wanted to do it. But, at the same time, it seemed a reasonable price to pay to keep Thomas safe. To protect James’ happiness. And it was a simple matter of spending time with a friend, so he had gone along with it. But he should have known things would escalate because that’s what always happened and then it was too late to back out without something even worse happening than whatever it was he was trying to prevent in the first place. He didn’t want Thomas to think that his problem with the situation was that he was a man, he didn’t want to put him in danger or leave him exposed to the idea that Thomas had tried to seduce him and failed, which distancing himself now would surely do. So he was going to do it. Was going to let himself edge ever closer to the precipice of _something_. He didn’t want to look over the edge to see what exactly it was, but he knew that it lead to his ruin. 

Being close to Thomas like they were planning had always seemed oddly possible and yet totally unattainable and he hated the contradiction of it. The possibility meant he couldn’t just ignore it, whenever they were together it was like he could feel it in the room with them. But he knew it was impossible. Even if it weren’t for James, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to act on his feelings. And James was a very real obstacle, and not just because John’s feelings for them both were so similar. 

It was a fucking mess and John wasn’t sure how he was ever going to climb out the other side of it. Not that it mattered, because he had agreed to the plan and had duly met Thomas for another night of only slightly staged drinking. He had agreed to meet with some of the men later, which meant that someone would want to come looking for him once he and Thomas disappeared. Probably. If everyone didn’t get too drunk and forget the entire thing. The plan was far from foolproof and it was making him more anxious than ever. 

He also couldn’t decide if it was better to truly be drunk for the whole ridiculous encounter, or not. Sense said absolutely not, but his churning stomach and aching heart said absolutely yes. Thomas was at his side trying to make conversation with little help from John; he tried his best to laugh at the right places, but neither of them really seemed able to concentrate as the night wore on. 

“Are you sure about this, John?” Thomas asked suddenly, moving closer to him. They were already sitting on the same bench, legs lightly pressed together, and John could feel the muscles along the length of his arm as Thomas leant slightly into him. “I really don’t expect anything from you. We can just leave as we always do. I’m sure eventually people will-”

“I’m sure,” John cut in. He sounded much surer than he felt at least. Perhaps because he _did_ want to kiss Thomas. He hated the circumstances, but his body seemed to be buzzing from the thought of it, no matter how hard he tried to remind himself that none of it was real. His hands wanted to shake from the anticipation of it, of being able to reach out and hold Thomas. To feel the way he must feel against James, to see a glimpse of what they must share. He shifted, trying to shake loose the feeling. “I just want to get on with it.” 

Thomas looked around. “It’s nearly time, should we leave?”

John looked at him and wondered for a moment if he was imagining the look on Thomas’ face. If he could really see his own longing reflected there. He shook his head, perhaps he shouldn’t have had anything to drink at all. He was losing his mind, clearly, and rum was the last thing he needed. Still. He drained his glass. “I told them I’d meet them shortly,” he said with a nod. “We need to be seen leaving.” 

Thomas stood, perhaps a little too quickly. “Okay, well, we should-” He gestured towards the door. 

“Right,” John said, standing and finding them closer than he expected them to be. He was caught off-guard by the proximity, hooked by the blue of Thomas’ eyes as they held his own. His breath was coming a little faster than it should, his heart thudding in his chest. He’d never felt quite like this before. He’d kissed many people, a handful of men even, though none that he had felt any _interest_ in. This felt so different, so laden with possibility that it was making him jittery with nerves. “Put your arm around my shoulders and laugh.” 

Thomas blinked at him and John forced himself into motion and he found he didn't need to fake his unsteady footing, though the alcohol had nothing to do with it. Thomas did as he was directed, throwing an arm over him, making him stumble a little and they both laughed, staggering toward the door. John was sure to bump into a couple of tables of people that knew them and were sure to make note that they’d left, as they went by. 

There were people on the street outside, as there always seemed to be, no matter the time of night. “Pull me down the side of the tavern,” Thomas said, voice barely above a whisper, close to John’s ear where he was still leaning into him, his arm solid and warm about his shoulders. 

John managed not to shiver at the sensation of it. Instead turning it into a drunken laugh. “This way,” he hissed, a little louder than was entirely needed, but not much above a whisper. 

And then they were sheltered, partially, by the exterior walls of the tavern. “Is anyone coming?” He wanted to turn to look, but that would somewhat ruin the ruse. 

Thomas didn’t respond, instead he leant down again to say, softly, “Push me against the wall, John.” 

For a moment John thought he might stumble and his footsteps faltered. He didn’t ask what Thomas meant, but he did turn his head to look at him. It was hard to make out his expression in the dark, the light from the moon and lanterns not enough to make out his features cleanly. His words had sent a sudden jolt through John's whole body, like he’d just been set aflame. He swallowed heavily and found himself unable to move. 

“Come on,” Thomas’ voice was urgent. “You know how this story should be seen. Take control. Take me.” 

John’s head swam and the next thing he knew, Thomas was against the wall, pinned by one of John’s arms, the other bracketing his head to steady himself. Thomas was hot against the entire length of his body. He could feel every line of him. He didn’t move, didn’t struggle in place, just watched John calmly. Though now they were this close, he could feel how quickly Thomas was breathing. The thought of it sent a little shiver of excitement through John. 

“There needs to be movement,” Thomas panted, breath hot over John’s lips. His hands were at the fastening of John’s trousers and John’s hips hitched involuntarily. He bit his lip. “Kiss me.” 

Head swimming with heat and alcohol and Thomas’ words, John did. Thomas' lips were hot and wet, and John could taste the wine on him. He couldn't think for a long moment, could only feel the way they moved against each other, shifting positions as they tried to get closer, press themselves together more tightly. He had only meant for it to be a press of lips, perhaps he was going to make a joke, make it seem more like a sweethearts’ moonlit walk than a lovers' tryst, but he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t think at all. 

He pulled back, gasping for breath, long moments later. He could hear voices again, perhaps someone looking for them, but he couldn’t look away from Thomas’ face. His eyes were dark and his mouth was open in a pant. “Again,” he said, and this time John moved more easily. 

He wasn’t sure how long they kissed, perhaps only a moment, but it filled his every sense. He pressed forward, hitching his hips and felt the hard line of Thomas’ cock pressing against his stomach. The idea of it was dizzying, that he could _feel_ that Thomas wanted him. He had suspected, but never truly allowed himself to believe it until now. He barely managed to suppress a gasp at the feeling of it. Trying to hide his reaction was stupid, of course, because Thomas _must_ have been able to feel how hard John was. The idea was nearly enough to make him pull back. 

“We should,” Thomas panted into his mouth, pulling back only very slightly, “they should see…” He trailed off, apparently unable to form the words. 

John was about to ask what he meant and then Thomas’ hand was in his trousers. He didn’t touch him, instead sliding his hand down one hip and splaying his long fingers there. But he was so _close_. John could feel every finger, how _easy_ it would be to move just slightly and brush against him. 

John’s hips shifted again, as Thomas began to move his hand. He wasn’t touching him, was careful not to brush against him at all. John felt like he might be about to go mad. The motions were meant to give the illusion, from a distance, of something that the thought of made John’s knees go a little weak. It was like he could nearly _feel_ it and it made his head spin again. 

" _Please._ ” His voice sounded desperate, needy, and he couldn’t stop. “ _Fuck, Thomas_. Just, please-”

“Silver!”

He jumped back so quickly at the unexpected voice that he nearly stumbled. “What the _fuck_ do you want?” he hissed, not having to feign being flustered, frustrated, a little embarrassed and sort of _furious_ at being interrupted. 

Paxton shrank back at his tone, his eyes darting back and forth between them. “The game’s starting,” he said, voice low and uncertain. 

There was silence where John tried to remember what he was even talking about, before Thomas stepped forward. He rested a hand, calming, on John’s arm for a second. “Thank you,” he said, voice level and amazingly steady, “we’ll be with you shortly.”

Paxton nodded, looked between them again before he stumbled away. He left ringing silence in his wake.

“Well,” John said, gathering himself, glad that the panic at being interrupted had dulled his erection at least. “I suppose that was a success.” 

“Yes,” Thomas said, voice soft and almost uncertain. “John-”

“We’d better get back,” he cut in, voice louder than was probably needed. There was panic rising in his chest. He didn’t want to know what Thomas was about to say. Nothing good would come of it. 

“Okay,” Thomas agreed, “but-”

“Forget it,” he said. Commanded, really. 

Thomas didn’t move for a long moment and John held himself tight, panic and confusion waiting to turn into snarling anger if Thomas pushed. There was a beat where he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, then, “We should join the game.” Thomas’ voice was resigned. 

John tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest. He didn’t turn back as he left the ally. 

****

John did a good job of avoiding Thomas the next day. It made sense, for the story, he told himself. If they truly were together, trying to hide it, and had just been caught, of course they would try and keep some distance between them. It made sense. It would help the narrative. 

But mostly it would give John time to regroup. He wanted to scream in frustration that he’d let things get so out of hand. He should know better. He should never have agreed to any of it. All he wanted was to be left alone, to be able to live a quiet life. And yet his every decision just seemed to make it more complicated and confusing. He considered cutting and running, but dismissed it. He truly wouldn’t leave the crew, or James and Thomas, in such a position. Not that it wasn’t tempting. 

So he would have to stay and find some way of making the situation bearable. He knew he should start by calling off the whole ridiculous pretence. The job was surely done anyway; he’d shown that Thomas was in _his_ regard and not James’, and perhaps that would be enough. He wanted to go and tell Thomas immediately that it needed to end, but the thought of seeing him made his heart pick up. He avoided the entire situation instead. 

Then he continued to do so with great success for the next couple of days. Although even that started to wear on him. Finding reasons to always be busy, finding ways to avoid thinking about Thomas and what had happened, what might happen next, was exhausting. And he couldn’t even sleep at night - thoughts chased themselves around and around in his head until the early morning when he felt into a fitful doze only to start the same process over the next day. He felt restless, anxious. And on top of that, he found, absurdly, that he missed James and Thomas’ company. He longed for the evenings they’d spent together, but now seemed forever out of his reach. 

This might have been manageable on its own, it was just feelings, and he was used to ignoring his own, but the situation in Nassau remained tense and he was needed constantly. Not even to _do_ anything which might have been satisfying at least, but rather just to be seen. For Long John Silver to be present as a symbol of the island for the people to rally around. It was too much, pretending both to be someone else and that he wasn’t feeling more alone that he’d ever felt in his life. 

So when James knocked on his door one afternoon, he was almost tempted to shut it again in his face as soon as he opened it. He ended up frozen with indecision, his hand gripping the door too tightly. 

“Are you going to invite me in?” James asked, arching an eyebrow. He was already pressing forward, though, and John had little choice but to yield. 

He stepped to the side, but held onto the door for a moment, toying with the idea of not closing it. But one look at James told him that they were having this conversation whether or not he kept the door open. He closed it, jaw already tight with anger. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want complications. He wanted to be left alone. James surely knew that otherwise he wouldn’t have arrived unannounced. There was silence as James looked around his room, as though he hadn’t already seen it. 

John broke first, because he always did. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“What happened between you and Thomas the other night?” 

The question was direct and to the point, John had to give him that. It also hit him like a gunshot. He had to physically stop himself from reeling backwards as his heart spiked. What did James know? Surely nothing, otherwise he wouldn’t be there or had Thomas suggested something had made him uncomfortable? He’d seemed invested enough at the time, but John had been about to ask for more. Perhaps he felt wronged in the morning. Was James here to warn John away? As though John weren’t already doing exactly that. “What do you mean?” he asked in the end, playing dumb was usually a winning strategy when nothing could be proven either way. 

“I thought my question was quite plain.” James did sound annoyed, but only as annoyed as he usually did. He didn’t seem angry and certainly not like he was bent on revenge. 

John watched him carefully. “Well, in that case, the plain and true answer is nothing at all.” 

James’ eye twitched a little at that, but John held his ground. “We both know that’s a lie. So I will give you another chance to answer the question truthfully.”

“I just did,” he said. “I’m sorry, but unless there’s something else, I have things that I need to do.” 

“You haven’t spoken to him in days,” James cut in, voice edging toward angry now. “Something happened.” 

“I’ve been busy,” John answered, keeping his face as neutral as he could. “We enacted the plan to be caught and now I’m doing the second phase of it - acting as any man would if something about himself was discovered that he did not want.” 

“And you agreed this with Thomas?” James asked. 

“I really don’t understand why you’re here,” John said, ignoring the question and raising his voice to match James’ level of annoyance. “What do you _want_?” 

“I want to know what happened between the two of you,” he said, voice plain and firm but increasingly edged with frustration. 

“Then ask him,” John replied, voice steady despite the desperate pounding of his heart. 

“I’m asking _you_ ,” James countered. 

“For fuck’s sake,” John snapped, “he’s _your_ partner, surely this is a matter between the two of you. I want no part of it.” 

“You _are_ a part of it,” James answered, stepping closer to him. He was taller than John, certainly more physically intimidating if only because his entire being radiated danger. Once, John would have stepped away. But he was on Nassau, he was Long John Silver here and James would have to try a whole lot harder to truly intimidate him into capitulating. 

He glared up at him. “I am taking a break from our story,” he said, voice low and even, his anger simmering. “And it’s really none of your fucking business. Back off.” 

“He’s _upset_ ,” James said, teeth gritted in a snarl. “Fix it.” 

“That is not my responsibility,” he said, despite the pang of distress at the idea that he might have hurt Thomas in some way. 

“It is if you’ve wronged him,” James said. “You don’t get to play this game with him.” 

“I’m not playing a game,” he hissed. “If anyone is playing a game, we both know that it’s _him_.” 

James reeled back, as though the insult had been levelled at him. “ _What_?” 

“For fuck’s sake!” John hissed, his anger at the sheer audacity James had in coming there, in trying to paint John as being in the wrong, forcing him to say more truth than he might have otherwise. “Come on, we both know that he’s playing with me. Enjoying pretending that his affections for me are more than they truly are. Hinting that _yours_ might be more. I’ve had enough. It’s not _fair_ , there is too much at stake here for games and I’m done playing. So, yes, I’m giving myself some distance. I’ve _earned_ it.” 

“How _dare you,_ ” James said, apparently both surprised and genuinely outraged at the accusation. “If anyone has been purporting deeper feelings between the three of us, it is you!”

“I’m not doing this again,” John said, anger heating his skin. “I’ve told you how I felt, I've _shown_ you. I’m not doing it again.” 

James shook his head. “You’ve done nothing but betray and leave me, John,” he said, taking another step forward until they were nearly nose to nose. John had to look up at him, but refused to back away. “Was I meant to read something other than disdain in those actions?” 

“Fuck you,” he hissed, “don’t you dare pretend that it is _my_ lack of regard that’s the issue here.” He jabbed a finger into James’ chest. He didn’t yield, instead swaying closer. John could feel the heat of him. “My feelings for you have been plain since before even the becalming. I will not have them dismissed to suit this new narrative you’ve concocted.” And then he did the only thing he could think of to stop him responding and kissed him. He was never sure why he did it, probably just the breaking of the poorly dammed lust he’d been feeling for _months_.

There was a moment where both of them froze, shocked at what had just happened. John was about to pull back. About to run or beg for forgiveness. But then James kissed him back. His hands tangled in his shirt as he pulled him closer. John’s mind went blank, as hot, surprised pleasure washed over him. He brought his hands up to James’ arms, running up the length of them, taking a moment of startled delight to note the strength of the muscles and deepened the kiss. 

James’ hands were in his hair, then they were at his back, then sliding up to cradle his jaw. John couldn’t keep up with the sensations. His body seemed to be entirely made of feeling, his skin tingling and overwhelmed. He gasped into the kiss as James pressed against him and he could feel his arousal press into his hip. 

“Fuck,” John muttered, hitching forward into the feeling. 

James smiled into the kiss and John had the strange desire to laugh. He was surely dreaming. He’d hardly dared imagine a moment like this. He hadn’t let himself imagine what might happen if he’d managed to gather himself to kiss James or what he’d do if James actually kissed him back. He’d never been able to envision a set of circumstances where James would actually want something from him. He’d barely imagined that he might want John as a friend, let alone that he might want him like this. Even without Thomas around as an alternative, John had little offer: one leg and no real skill outside the superficial spinning of stories. So, he hadn’t given much thought to the particulars of the moment. 

But, nothing could have prepared him for James pushing him backwards until his legs hit the back of the daybed. He sunk down to a sitting position, blinking up at James. He hadn’t managed to formulate a single coherent thought before James sunk down to his knees. John’s mind whirled making him feel almost dizzy as James reached out to him to begin fumbling with his trousers. 

He watched in a daze as the implication finally sunk in. “Fuck,” he gasped again, hips arching as James moved his hand over him, pulling him out. John stared down at James, mouth open and gasping. His mind was completely blank with shock until James' mouth covered John’s cock and all thought fled entirely. 

The wet heat was so much, so _good_ that John knew immediately that he was going to embarrass himself. He wanted to do something, but all he seemed capable of was groaning and reaching out to touch James’ head. His hair was soft, still short but starting to grow back in now and John raked his blunt fingers through the strands. This had the unfortunate - or very fortunate, depending on your view - effect of making James groan. 

“ _Oh fuck_ ,” John managed, squirming, even as James’ hands clamped down on his hips to keep him in place on the daybed. “James,” he gasped again, “I can’t- _Oh fuck, that’s-”_

The thought floated dreamily into his head that James was good at this. That he’d had practice, that he knew enough to know that he liked it. That he must have done this with Thomas. The thought of it was enough that he was coming so hard that he wasn’t even sure if he made any noise. He blinked his eyes open moments, possibly hours later, to find James starting to get up from the floor.

In one motion, he scooted back, to lay down on the daybed so he could pull James up and over him. He needed to feel him, needed to be pressed back into the soft material by the solid weight of him. To his delight James came with him easily. He arched up to kiss him and could taste himself on James’ tongue. His toes curled with hot desire, heating him low in his belly. He scrabbled for a moment, trying to get to James’ belt. 

“Wait,” James hissed, lifting up and starting the process himself. 

It was more efficient, John knew, despite feeling almost furious that he wasn’t doing it himself. He watched him for a moment, before realising that it would be prudent to take off his own shirt. There was little point in removing his trousers now, and they were half down his thighs anyway. Once done with his own shirt, he moved to James’ pulling his coat roughly off his shoulders and then tugging at the shirt. 

James huffed, in amusement and frustration both it seemed, and then he was out of his shirt. They looked at each other for a moment, taking in the fact they were now mostly undressed. Then they were kissing again. And it was so much better now, with James’ hot skin against his own. He lay back and James followed him down, now balanced between his legs, which allowed John access to finish opening his trousers. He didn’t think, _couldn’t_ really think, with want so fully pulsing through every nerve of his body. He just needed to touch, needed to feel James hot and heavy in his hand. 

He hissed as John stroked him once, closing his eyes at the feeling of it. 

John watched him, unable to look away. He was incredible, so focused and present in a way that John never really felt himself. He had a moment to feel bad that they had no oil, but spit was going to have to do, because there was not a force on earth that was going to make him stop now. 

“Oh,” James said, just once, slightly broken and he began to thrust back into John’s hand. 

“Kiss me,” John asked. It was a plea, really. 

They met halfway to each other. John’s hand worked steadily and they kissed desperately. It felt like the moment had been building for so long, that John didn’t have the capacity to fully process it. He knew when James was close to finishing, his breathing became erratic, his kisses not quite making their target. 

“Come on,” John whispered between kisses, “I want to feel you. Come on, James, let me feel you.” 

He felt the splash of James’ finish against his stomach with a strange thrill of victory. He surged up to meet James’ kisses this time, stroking him through his shuddering until he stopped moving entirely. 

They rested their foreheads together, breath mingling as they panted through the aftermath of the moment. Then James smiled down at him, something like relief in his eyes. It was such a warm, open expression that John froze. 

James took a deep breath, then kissed him sloppily on his forehead and shifted, moving back to take the weight off his arms. John blinked up at him, still apparently easy and loose in a way only sex seemed to make people. He smiled again, and that was enough, something cold and stuttering in John’s chest drove him to move. He wriggled out from under James, nearly tripping as he tried to stand and pull his trousers up in one movement. He dared a look behind him to find James watching him with an increasingly serious expression. 

So he knew it too. John tried to tell himself that was good as he found some discarded item of clothing to wipe his stomach clean. He didn't look at James. Didn't want to see that he now knew that they'd made a terrible mistake. Even if James had enjoyed it in the moment, even for a little while after. But reality always found a way back in. It was like water in that way; it always found a way through even the tiniest cracks. John looked around wildly, needing to be away from the room, away from James as soon as possible. He couldn’t believe that they had actually done it. That they hadn’t found a moment to turn back from what was clearly both their ruin. 

He was so stupid; he should have never let Thomas convince him to stay. He should have left after they’d recaptured Nassau. He was a fool. Why did he not learn to protect his heart better than this? And where _the fuck_ was his shirt? 

“Where are you going?” James didn’t sound angry, just confused. 

“Away,” John answered because he had no earthly idea and other than that. He finally located his shirt and snagged it off the floor, one hand still holding his trousers in place. 

“I understand,” James said, watching him closely as he struggled with his clothes, “that people tell you this is wrong, that what we just- that it isn’t okay. I know it can take time to-”

John couldn’t help the slightly hysterical giggle that escaped his mouth. “You think my problem is that you have a cock?” 

James frowned, apparently completely taken off-guard. John might have found some pleasure in that at any other time. 

“I know that admitting something like this about yourself can-”

“I don’t care,” John cut in. “It’s not some big dark secret that I’ve been hiding all this time.” He ran a hand over his hair, which must look a complete disaster. “I’ve never had occasion to think of men like this at all, if you must know.” He paused. “I have always admired-” He shook his head, now really wasn’t the time for self-reflection. “I didn’t know that I wanted this until I met you.” 

James looked at him, baffled, and apparently speechless. 

“I didn’t want a lot of things until I met you,” John continued, happy to make it back to his point. “Belonging. Community. A cause. _Friends_.” His shirt was twisted, inside out and completely tangled. He wrestled with it fruitlessly for a moment. “Thomas is my friend, I won’t lose him for this, I won’t have _you_ lose him for this.”

“Thomas will be delighted.” 

John turned to stare at him, shirt forgotten. “You’re going to tell him?” 

James frowned at Silver like he was a particularly slow child. “There is nothing that I don’t tell him.” 

“Even this.” 

“John,” James said, moving so he was sitting up. “What do you think happened here?” 

That was a question so loaded John was surprised it didn’t arrive smoking. He shook his head. “Madness.” 

James had the audacity to look _hurt_ by that. “I can assure you, for my part, I was clear headed.” 

John shook his head, and returned to his shirt, finally discerning how to turn it the right way out and pull it over his head. He felt better for being clothed, more in control. “I have business that I must attend to. But, if you will hear my counsel, you will not tell Thomas of this. He will not hear it from me.” And then he made his escape as quickly as he could without actually running.

_TBC_


	7. Chapter 7

Thomas smiled over the top of his book as the door opened; there was only one person that would enter without knocking. But with one look at James’ face, his heart stuttered in his chest. “What is it?” he asked before the door was even shut. 

James gave him a look, his face set in a mask of grim defiance. 

“What?” he asked again. “James, you’re worrying me.” 

“I went to see John,” he said, voice tight. 

“Oh,” he said, placing his book down so he could stand. “Was it-?” he started and then found his nerve failed him. Had Thomas managed to scare him off entirely? He hadn’t meant to push so hard at their last meeting; the drink had got to him, his own desire overwriting his better sense. “Did I upset him?” 

“Well,” James said, sitting heavily down on the bed. “If you didn’t, I certainly did.” 

“Oh,” he said, again, now truly seeing James. He took in his rumpled appearance, that his clothes were askew. _Oh._ A jolt of surprise and excitement went through him before he realised the rest of the implications in James’ demeanour. He felt himself begin to deflate. “He ran?” 

He was met with a sigh. James rubbed a hand over his face. He seemed tired and pained when he looked back at Thomas. “I was foolish, impulsive.” 

“He does rather have the effect on people.” He tried to keep his voice unconcerned, despite the way his heart was beating hard in his chest. James said nothing, shoulders slumped and eyes far away. He took a step towards him, trying to catch his eye and give him reassurance. “He’ll come back.” 

“I took it too far,” James said. “I know we agreed to wait for him to come to us, but he was just so-” He bit off the thought and shook his head. Not that it really mattered, Thomas well knew what James meant anyway. “It scared him, I think. Whatever he saw in me. It scared him.” 

Thomas also knew well what he meant by that. It was a rare intensity to be loved by James, his focus was truly awe-inspiring but he could well see that it might leave someone feeling a little exposed when aimed directly at them. Especially if they weren’t expecting it. He had the sneaking suspicion that John still truly had no clue of James’ feelings towards him, let alone how deep they ran. “Did he say anything?” 

“That you shouldn’t know it had happened.” James' mouth turned up a little at that. 

“Well, that’s good,” he said. “He was trying to protect you.” 

“Or you.” 

“Or both.” 

James conceded the point with an incline of his head. “I wanted- I thought it might have been a breakthrough between us. He seemed so-” He shook his head. “I fear it might just have been a break.” 

“Come now,” Thomas said, coming to sit next to him on the bed and pull him close. James came to him easily, burying his head into the crook of Thomas’ neck with a sigh. They stayed like that, while Thomas tried to ease some of the tension from James’ back with long, gentle strokes of his hands. He felt him start to relax, inch by inch, but didn’t ease up the motion. “It would pain him to see you like this," he said, softly into James' short hair. 

James didn’t answer, but at least it wasn’t a denial. 

“How far..?” He let the question trail off for delicacy, unsure how James would take it. 

He pulled back to give Thomas a firm look. “Very.” 

A smile wanted to tug at his lips. Both at James’ slightly prudish expression and the idea of what he was hinting at. “Oh.” 

“Thomas,” James said, a warning and reprimand in one. 

His desire to smile died at the obvious displeasure on James' face. “I was merely asking because if it was indeed _‘very far’_ then we know that he’s not disinterested. Which isn’t new information,” he continued when it looked like James was going to speak, “but perhaps it was to him. I suspect he never meant to act on his feelings. He feels that he is protecting all of us by keeping his distance.” 

“I do not wish to put him in harm’s way.” The words were defiant, as though Thomas would ever think otherwise. “If he does not want- I will not go against his wishes in this matter.” He gave Thomas a hard look. “And neither will you.”

“It would not bring you joy to have John at your side?” 

“I never said it wouldn’t, but not if he doesn’t want it.” 

“But you _know_ he does, James, he’s proved it often enough. Please, don’t dismiss that just because you are hurt. We knew he would likely run if he got too close.” They hadn't discussed it much - James usually put an end to such discussions before they could really begin. But, lately, Thomas had managed to draw him on a couple of occasions into a vague conversation about the potential of what might be growing between the three of them. James had seemed more open to it since John and Thomas had started their little pretence. Thomas had been almost optimistic, perhaps that was why he'd gone too far with their staged kiss - he'd really started to believe that something might be possible if only John would let himself see it. 

James shook his head, pulling away from Thomas, but it was only to rise and go and wash his face, so Thomas let him have his distance. “He’s not a wild animal you’re luring in with promises of food, Thomas. He’s a grown man. I won’t ignore his wishes.” 

“I don’t intend to do that, but can we at least discuss what we are to do now? I hardly need remind you that we have rather a lot riding on his not leaving the crew.” He grimaced, feeling a little guilty for bringing something so personal back to the war and wider fate of Nassau. Even if it was usually a good tactic if he wanted James’ to concentrate on the problem at hand, rather than his own hurt.

“He won’t abandon the crew.” James didn’t turn, but he sounded firm. “Not if you or I don’t push him too hard.” 

Thomas left aside the very dramatic shift in James' opinion on _that_ matter, deciding that it wasn't worth the fight. “But if we leave him, the story he tells himself about what happened will become true.” A sort of horror filled him at the thought of it, of what had been building between them starting to fade before his very eyes. “James, you know it will.” 

“Then that’s what it will be.” 

Thomas opened his mouth to argue and then closed it again. Surely James knew this was not something Thomas would be able to leave alone. “James-” he began, trying to sound firm. 

“Leave it, Thomas.” James’ voice was hard, clearly moving toward anger. 

Thomas continued to talk over him, not wanting to be derailed just because James was shielding his hurt with misplaced anger. “You know that I can’t stand aside and watch you both hurt yourselves like this.” 

“It’s not for you to decide.” James turned, eyes flashing. “Leave it.” 

They hadn’t really argued since Thomas had returned. Hadn’t ever really argued, not that he could remember. They would bicker, disagree over a course of action, but not fundamentally disagree in so personal a way. He wasn’t sure how to proceed, but he knew he didn’t want any secrets, didn’t want to mislead James as to his intentions. “But this isn’t just about you, James, you know how I feel about him. I can’t simply let him go.” His voice caught a little unexpectedly on his final words and he cleared his throat, feeling embarrassed. 

This had the somewhat surprising effect of softening James. “I’m sorry for that,” he shook his head. “I should have waited, but it’s done now and John has made his choice.” 

“He’s _making_ his choice," he corrected, forcefully, "he will look to you, as he always does, for how best to make it. Go to him. Reach out, I think it will make all the difference.” 

James sat down heavily on the bed, making it dip with his weight. He looked defeated which gave Thomas a little thrill of victory, even as his heart broke for him. “Would it not be better coming from you? I think he feels that he has wronged you in some way.” 

“I think it is you that he feels…” Thomas paused, trying to think of the right words. “My connection with John, it is uncomplicated in its way. We like each other well. But, with you, it is different. Harder, yes, but all the brighter for its intensity. It is you he looks to now, James, not me. I can do my part to reassure him, but it will be you that he looks to for the reaction he ought to have.” 

James looked at him a little balefully.

“Yes, my love, you may have to talk to him. About your feelings.” 

***

Thomas rolled his shoulders back as he walked towards John’s room. He had left it long enough that he suspected John would have returned to his room after fleeing from James. He found himself infinitely grateful that they had decided to bring this matter to a head on land; trying to find privacy on _The Walrus_ would have been impossible. 

He was nervous, he realised. He felt the matter at hand keenly, knowing that things were precarious at best. He knew, really, that one word out of place couldn’t actually influence John too wildly in either direction - John was either minded to believe him or he wasn’t - but the anxious feeling in his chest persisted. He could not afford to get this wrong. James had been so different since his reconciliation with John; there had been a lightness to his step, like he was finally coming back to himself after a long absence and Thomas didn't want to do anything that might make it disappear again. James deserved all the happiness he was able to find. 

Thomas was no different; there was a unity to the three of them together. Perhaps it shouldn't have surprised him after London - he and James worked well with someone there to balance them. Thomas' love for James was stronger than ever, but whatever Thomas had begun with John when they were on the run together was not finished. He suspected, secretly, that it never would be. He found himself unable to think of a time where he wouldn’t want the other man with him. There was something very grounding about John - he kept Thomas tethered and aware of the real world that he seemed unable to do on his own. He wouldn't just miss John’s sharp mind and sharper wit, but also the thoughtfulness he seemed to want to hide behind a shiny veneer of good cheer and an unassuming manner. Thomas would be less without him and he did not want that to happen. 

John opened the door to his knock with surprising speed. Perhaps that was a good sign. But then his face fell when he saw Thomas on the other side and he wondered if he should have insisted that James came, however convincing his point about Thomas needing to show John that there was no betrayal in what had happened earlier that day was.

“He told you.” It wasn't a question and John was clearly trying to hide the apprehension written plainly across his face. 

“Can I come in?” Thomas asked, trying to keep his tone light. “I suspect this is a conversation that is best kept behind closed doors.” 

John’s jaw ticked, just for a moment, but then he stepped aside. 

Thomas walked in but then found himself unsure what he ought to do next. Sitting seemed too formal and standing not formal enough. He stalled in the middle of the room, looking at the bed, rumpled as though John had been lying on it before he answered the door. “I find myself unsure how to proceed.” He supposed truthfulness was the best way forward.

John didn’t respond. Didn’t seem able to even look at him, his eyes fixed on the floor at Thomas’ feet.

“John,” he said, taking a step closer. John didn’t look up but he didn’t move away. “Look at me.” 

There was a moment where John seemed to compose himself and then he lifted his head. His face was totally blank, he'd managed to conceal any surprise at Thomas' arrival and he was now completely composed, hidden behind a mask not dissimilar to the one he wore when he was playing at being Long John Silver. Thomas should have expected that, but it still hurt. 

“I’m not angry,” he tried, but John didn’t react. “Not with James and certainly not with you.” He took another step closer. “The only thing about this whole situation that displeases me is that it seems to bring you pain.” 

“Why are you here?” His voice was tight and his whole body radiated discomfort. 

“To reassure you that whatever step you take next you will have my support.” 

“Whatever step," he repeated flatly. 

“Well,” Thomas said, allowing himself a little smile that was not returned. “If you are planning on running off and leaving me and James then I suppose I will be saddened.” 

It was apparently the wrong thing to say. John tensed further and seemed to sway away from Thomas. “It’s better that I leave.” 

Thomas held himself still, not allowing himself to rock back like he’d received a blow. “Why?”

“Because it would be better for everyone.” 

He wished John would look at him. He was hard to read at the best of times, but without being able to see into his eyes it was almost impossible. He took a breath and then a chance. “Because you’re in love with James.” 

John did flinch at that. “What?” he gasped, clearly panicking and Thomas’ heart gave a little throb of sympathy for him. “How dare you? I-”

“It’s really fine, John,” he said, cutting in firmly. “James is very easy to love.” 

He snorted. “McGraw, maybe, you clearly haven’t spent enough time around Flint.” 

Thomas smiled. “And yet you, who has spent the most time with him of perhaps anyone, _do_ love him. Perhaps it's not so difficult at all.” 

“I’ve never said _love_ ,” he snapped. 

“You didn’t have to; I’ve known since the first time you really talked about him.” 

The desire to dismiss what Thomas was saying was clear in every line of John's body. “So?” he snapped, eventually. “What now? Are you suggesting that I be something to enliven whatever’s going on between you and James for a few weeks or months until I’m cast aside when you grow bored? Let James get it out of his system and then he can come back to you and you can get on with your lives?”

Thomas should have expected that John would assume something along these lines. But he hadn’t. He’d thought he was being so very clear that he wanted John in his life. He pursed his lips, not wanting to dismiss John’s fears but also wanting to show them they were unfounded. He considered his options for another moment before walking back the way he’d come and opening the door. John was clearly in no mood to listen to him. It was time to bring in reinforcements. “James?” 

James spun on his heel to face him and gave Thomas an innocent look, as though pretending that he hadn’t been pacing the hall while he waited outside the room. Thomas motioned and James looked only mildly like he was considering fleeing rather than doing as he was bade and following him back into the room. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be be fucking kidding,” John snapped, taking a step back, the moment James was in the room. 

James looked at Thomas, his brow pinched in either worry or discomfort. Both probably. 

“I think it’s time we talked,” Thomas said, trying not to show how steady he was trying and failing to keep his own voice. One of the three of them needed to seem like they knew what they were doing. “I would not have there be misunderstandings between us. This is too important.” 

John shook his head like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. 

Thomas paused, wondering if either of the other men were going to speak. The silence stretched long. “James,” he said, and the man at his side shifted uncomfortably, “and I,” he amended, “we care about you, John.” 

John looked at them, then to the door. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

Thomas tried not to sigh. “I know,” he said, “I think we’d all prefer it if it could be avoided, but I think that’s gone on long enough. Now’s the time for clarity.” 

“No,” John said, taking another step back, “this isn’t going to happen. It’s too complicated. I don’t do complicated; it gets you killed.” 

“That’s nonsense,” James snapped at him. “Simple would bore you to death within six months.” 

John had the nerve to look affronted. “I _told you_ ,” he said, looking at James, anger contorting his face. “I said I wanted to forget what happened and to not bring him into this.” 

“I think you’ll find,” Thomas started, valiantly trying to keep his voice level, “that I’m involved whatever you want.” 

“Of fucking _course_ ,” John shouted, “it doesn’t matter what I want. It never does, does it?” 

“If you weren’t being so fucking stubborn-” James said, voice as loud as John’s. 

“Me?” John countered. “You’re fucking _relentless_.”

“If you would just be honest for once in your miserable life-”

“James,” Thomas said, uselessly. 

“It’s been a whole lot _more_ miserable since you entered it,” John said, causing James to visibly flinch. John and Thomas both saw it and John paused, looking for a moment like he might take back his words. “I’m not the one who isn’t being honest,” he said instead, voice lower but no less angry. 

“We have tried to be honest with you,” Thomas said, his own frustration now rising. “You won’t hear it.” 

John buried his head into his hands, fingers tangling in his hair. He breathed deep. “No,” he agreed, when he looked up. “I won’t.” 

He slammed out of the room. The silence that followed was absolute. 

“That what you were hoping for?” James asked, his teeth still clenched in anger. 

Thomas took a slow breath. Let it out. Took another. “I shall go and talk to him.” 

“He doesn’t want to hear it,” James said. 

“Well,” Thomas said, resolute, “I want him to and so we shall have to see who wins.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. 

***

John hadn’t expected to be left alone because he never got what he wanted. But it didn’t stop the irritation cresting when Thomas came to sit next to him on the empty stretch of beach that he’d claimed. 

“How’d you find me?” 

“You’re a distinctive figure,” Thomas said, mild. “And I think the people here think I’m somewhat in your favour for some reason and saw no reason to hide your whereabouts from me.” 

He couldn’t stop the little mirthless laugh from escaping him. He didn’t turn to look at Thomas, though he wanted to. He’d missed him. It had been nearly a week since they’d last spoken and it was too long. Although he’d need to get used to it pretty quickly if he was going to have anything other than a long, lonely and somewhat miserable life. 

“We meant it,” Thomas said, voice so sincere that John couldn’t look at him. “ _James_ meant it. What he did. He wasn’t acting out of any malice or manipulation. That’s not his way. Not in these matters.” 

John hung his head. “I know,” he said. Because he did. _God help him;_ he knew that James had feelings for him. Had had feelings for him for almost as long as John had had them for him. He'd tried to ignore it or play it off as something else, but what had happened between them left little doubt, however much it complicated John's life. James felt something deeper than friendship for him. Thomas too, apparently. But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. 

“Then,” Thomas started, clearly baffled, “what an Earth’s the matter? What’s this performance in aid of?”

“Your love outlasted death!” John burst out, frustrated that Thomas couldn’t see it. “He was on the verge of toppling an empire for you. How am I to compare to that?” He hadn’t meant to shout and he flinched back at the harshness of his own voice. 

Thomas barely seemed to notice. He watched John impassively for a long moment before speaking again, his voice calm. “Why should you compare to anything? Why can you not be just yourself?” He only let the question hang for a moment before continuing, apparently not expecting an answer. “And besides, if we’re to compare James’ bouts of ridiculous heroics conducted in the name of love, then we shall be here forever. Didn’t he very recently slice a man near in half for threatening you?” 

“That’s not the same.” An irritated, prickly sensation crept over him. It hadn’t been like Thomas made out. They’d been caught by some of Julius’ men, one of them had threatened John and James had taken action. It was what he had to do. No one could threaten Long John Silver on Nassau and be allowed to go unpunished. It said nothing of James’ feelings for him. 

“You don’t want it to be. But that doesn’t make it any less true.” He lent forward. “You are a remarkable man, John, but even you are not able to bend the world to your image of it. Certainly not people’s feelings toward you, although I know you would rather that no one had any at all.”

John was startled into looking at him again. He didn’t bother to deny it. He knew instinctively that no answer was the only viable option. The risk of confirming Thomas' presumption with any answer was too great. 

“It won’t stop us, you know,” Thomas said. “We’ll care for you whether you want our regard or not. You can choose to accept it or you can choose not to. It won’t change the reality of it.” 

John didn’t look at him, shifting uncomfortably in place. “I’m leaving in the morning,” he said. “Billy needs help shoring up support inland. I probably won’t be back.” 

Thomas was quiet for a long moment. “Very well,” he said. “I hope you are wrong about the last part.” 

He stood and dusted his hands along his thighs. John tried not to track the motion. 

“That’s it?” he asked, watching Thomas as he apparently prepared to leave.

“That’s what?”

“That’s it?” he repeated, getting to his own feet. “You’re letting me go?” 

“Letting you go?” He looked amused. “Did you think I might keep you here against your will? Tie you up somewhere?”

“I meant,” he pressed, leaving that particular image well alone, “you’re not going to try to persuade me?” 

“Why?” he asked, eyes suddenly sharp. “Did you want me to?” 

“I… No- Not at all.” He felt suddenly stupid. He hadn’t expected Thomas’ easy acceptance. He’d expected a fight and that he hadn’t gotten one made him feel exposed, like his bluff had been called. Only he hadn’t thought it _was_ a bluff until that very moment. 

Thomas nodded at him, like he understood, even if it brought him no joy. “Right. In that case, I would wish you well, John Silver.” He stepped closer, leaning forward just into his personal space. “And thank you, for saving my life. Well,” he looked down, like he was a little embarrassed, “I suppose first for bringing me back to life and then for saving it. I will be forever in your debt. You saved me. You saved James.” His eyes were shining when he looked back up. “If I can ever help you, know that I-”

“Do you _never_ stop talking?” John asked, breathless as he pulled back from the kiss he’d used to shut him up. That it was almost an exact mirror of how he’d first kissed James was not lost on him. He wasn't sure why he did it. Perhaps because Thomas had called his bluff so expertly and the continued performance was just ridiculous. 

But Thomas grinned, like he knew well why John had done it and what it mean. It was the full smile that John had only ever seen a handful of times before, it made his treacherous heart flutter. “Only when I am given good reason,” Thomas said, voice soft now, intimate. 

John didn’t attempt to stop his eye roll, but nor did he stop himself from leaning in again. 

****

James was still in John’s room when John returned. He was alone, Thomas nowhere in sight. James got quickly to his feet from where he’d been sitting on John’s bed, staring at the daybed and trying not to think of how badly he’d managed to fuck everything up. 

“I’m staying,” John said, voice a little breathless as he entered the room. 

James blinked at him, hands balling and uncurling at his sides. His heart was beating hard in his chest. “What?” he asked, looking passed John, still expecting to see Thomas, but there was no sign of him. 

“I’ve decided,” John said, standing a little straighter, “that I would like to stay onboard _The Walrus_ more permanently.” 

“More permanently?” he echoed, still not quite able to grasp anything that John was saying. Or rather, the meaning below the obvious. 

“Yes,” John nodded and shifted nervously from foot to foot. “Well, I mean, for as long as you and Thomas are there. I want-” he started before he seemed to run out of words. “I’d like to stay.” 

Hope was rising in James’ chest, his heart unfurling slowly. “I thought you had plans,” he couldn’t help but say, needing to be sure. 

John nodded. “I did,” he agreed. “But the thing is, I don’t _want_ any other plans. I want yours.” 

James could feel his face starting to pull into a smile. 

“I don’t _want_ to imagine another future,” John continued, he was holding James’ eye but it seemed to cost him, his whole body seeming to almost vibrate with the need for motion, although he kept still. “I know that I’ve been- That I’ve done much to make you doubt me, but I hope to prove what I say. I will not leave unless you send me away. I’m not sure where that leaves me- _us._ But. But, there it is.” 

“Thomas knows this?” James asked, voice now a little breathless. 

He nodded. “I think I made myself perfectly clear.” 

James took a step closer, hesitant in a way that he was in so few things. John didn’t back away, instead he swayed forward. James reached out, hands slow, as though afraid he might spook him. “I’m glad,” he said, as his hands reached John’s jaw, thumb stroking a line down his throat. 

John’s eyes fluttered shut. “Me too,” he whispered. And then he closed the distance between them to kiss him. 

***

John wasn’t sure what he expected to happen once everyone's feelings were all out in the open. He hadn’t let himself spend any time considering what might happen if he ever found himself in any type of romantic relationship. It had always seemed so unlikely. Even when he was no longer able to deny his feelings for either Thomas or James it wasn’t like he’d thought, even for a moment, that they might not only return his feelings, but want to pursue them. 

So he hadn’t thought about it. But if he had, he might have expected it to feel different. Surely if something so seismic were to happen it would have reverberations through the whole world and nothing could be the same afterwards. But in reality nothing much changed at all and most things carried on in much the same way as they had before. 

Other than the kissing. There was a lot more kissing now than before. John wasn’t sure he’d kissed so much, so often, in his entire life. It happened almost immediately when he was alone with either one of them. Sometimes both. He’d frozen the first time James had kissed him with Thomas in the same room. His heart had beaten so fast that he thought it might be audible. But James had just pulled back, smiled at him, dropped a kiss on his forehead and stepped back. He’d gathered his nerve to look over at Thomas, who was looking at them with a curious expression. It was somewhere between fondness and hunger. It had made John shiver with anticipation and adjust himself. 

But they’d gone no further.

Whether that was because of his bad reaction after his and James’ first time, or some other unspoken agreement between James and Thomas, they did little more than kissing. It was driving John insane. 

He had no idea where he stood with the two of them. The conversations about their feelings had obviously just been a starting point and not the ending that it had felt at the time. He’d felt so elated when James had kissed him after John had asked to stay, like somehow it was the culmination of everything that had happened between them until that point. But now he was floundering. 

It became apparent very quickly that this was the part of a relationship that he had no idea how to conduct. He’d avoided connections of this sort for most of his life. It hadn’t been that hard, he’d moved as often as possible and most people never saw beyond his smile and cheap charm to want him for longer than a night. Or an hour or two. 

Perhaps if he wasn’t so used to acting a certain way around Thomas and James he might not have to fight against the strangeness of trying to make their relationship something new. Perhaps if James and Thomas weren’t so close to one another already. He just couldn’t seem to envision how he might insert himself into what they already had. How would they even want him to? Was what that perhaps the reason they never did more than kiss him? Did they just want his devotion and the odd kiss, while they gave each other the rest of themselves? The worrying thing was that John wasn’t sure that he would be able to give them up even if that were the case. The echo of their love was more than he probably deserved, or thought he’d ever have, and he knew he would make himself content with it if he had to. 

But he wanted more. He suspected that he would never be satisfied, no matter how much they gave. He felt insatiable for them. He wanted more time. More of their attention. More affection. More than kisses. More than the memory of James’ mouth on him. He just had no idea how to get it. If he was allowed to ask for it, even if he had any idea of how to frame the question. 

So he did nothing and instead waited. Surely eventually one of them would tell him what they intended. Surely they would give him some clue on how they were to proceed from where they were. It was something of a relief, then, when Thomas finally asked him to his room one night after a day of dealing with matters so tedious that John immediately made a point of forgetting what they even were. 

“Drink?” Thomas had asked. “James is away for the rest of the day, but I have some rather excellent wine in my room if you would like to share it.” 

John had hoped that his surprise and excitement weren’t too obvious as he accepted. Was this another clue to how it might go? He was to be a substitute for when either James or Thomas were unavailable to the other? It made sense, he supposed, with a slightly sinking feeling. Still, he was powerless not to go. 

Thomas was reclining on a loveseat when John entered the room. He looked around, suddenly unsure where to sit but Thomas stood to welcome him, offering him a glass and then pulled him down next to him. John had expected to be kissed, but Thomas made no move to touch him at all. He tried not to feel disappointed. 

“Thank fuck that day is done,” Thomas said with feeling, once they were seated, leaning in close to John. 

John wasn’t sure if he ought to lean back in or give him space. He ended up not moving at all. “It was not the worst day I’ve experienced here,” he said, “but it’s higher up in the list than you might think.” 

Thomas laughed and the sound of it relaxed him. He settled back in the seat, only for Thomas to frown at him. “Why are you all the way over there?” he asked, reaching out so that he could pull John to him. John ended up sprawled half over him, his back resting against Thomas’ chest. He was a little cramped, his leg dangling at a slightly awkward angle from the seat, but it was nice. John grinned and drank his wine. 

They chatted aimlessly for a while. John let the conversation drift, but in the end couldn’t keep from bringing it back, closer to the matter that was running constantly through his mind. He didn’t understand what Thomas wanted, why he had summoned John to his room. He had never been in a situation like this before, but he knew Thomas had. Or close enough, with Miranda and James. John just needed to find the right questions to unlock what was going through Thomas' mind so he knew how to better play the part he’d been cast in. He had the sinking feeling he’d done a bad job of it so far, and desperately wanted to ensure he got better before they decided to be rid of him entirely. 

He spent most of the evening considering a question he was both genuinely curious about and was related, but not too closely, to the subject he really wanted to know about. Hopefully his obvious interest would be enough to conceal the real reason for asking. He knew from experience that asking questions tended to ruin the illusion that he wasn’t simply playing a part. It was late and they both lose from alcohol and tiredness when he finally asked it. 

“When did you first know?” he asked, looking up so he could see Thomas’ face. “That you wanted men?” 

Thomas looked down at him, frowning a little. “Always,” he said. “I mean, I think the realisation was that people thought that strange. But,” he shrugged, “always.” 

“And it never bothered you?” 

Thomas took a breath, his arm tightening around John’s shoulders. “No,” he said. “I never thought God made me wrong, if that’s what you’re asking. I have always rather suspected that it was other people’s minds that were the problem, not my own.”

John wanted to roll his eyes. That was Thomas alright. A mind so certain that he was sure he was the only one with the true understanding of a thing. No wonder James had been overwhelmed by him. “But you married.” 

“Miranda knew of my interests,” he said, mildly, his fingers stroking along John’s arm in a manner that was so distracting John wondered if he was doing it on purpose. “It was her idea to marry, I was against it. I thought she deserved better.” He sighed. “I was right, actually, but when her mind was set on something there was little dissuading her.” 

“You loved her?” 

Thomas swallowed and shifted under him. “Very much.” John tipped his head up so he could better see him. His jaw flexed and John watched as he wrestled for a moment to get himself together. “But, you had a reason for asking, John, I’m sure. Don’t be bashful now. What did you want to know?” 

“Nothing,” he answered, shifting, because it wasn’t the entire truth. But he also wasn’t sure what he was hoping for with this line of questioning now he’d begun it. “I didn’t know,” he said, into the silence that Thomas let him have for a long enough time to conjure some words. 

“Know what?” 

“That I could…” John shrugged. “This, with you and James, I didn't know I could feel that.” 

“For men?” Thomas asked. 

“No,” John said. “Yes.” He shifted, feeling almost irritable at not being able to articulate his meaning. “I’ve never done this before, really, and I suppose I never considered it a possibility with men before.”

“And does it bother you?” There was no hurt or judgement in Thomas’ voice. John wondered at that, how often had Thomas’ lovers hated themselves for their feelings. How often had Thomas had to comfort them through their shame at being with him? The thought made him sad and angry in equal measure. 

“No,” he said, smiling, because that much was true. “Well, not that you’re men. I just don’t understand how I didn’t know. All those years and I’ve never thought to ask myself if I felt anything more than friendship for men. Isn’t that strange?” 

“I don’t know,” Thomas said slowly, clearly thinking through John’s words. “I suppose it makes sense, if you’ve never had reason to wonder. You enjoy women?” 

“Yes,” John said. Although he wasn’t sure how true that was. He’d had sex. Wanted and enjoyed sex with women. But he hadn’t felt like he did currently about any of them. He wasn’t sure what that meant. Perhaps nothing. It didn’t have to mean a thing. But it worried him. “Doesn’t it bother you that I’ve never-”

“John,” Thomas interrupted, “there is nothing about you that you ought to feel the need to contort to fit this… To fit what we have. If you are happy and willing to be here, that is all I need to know.” 

“Oh,” John said. They were quiet for a long time. “It bothered James, didn’t it? Him and you, I mean. At least at first.” 

There was a longer, perhaps tenser, silence. “That is a topic for you and James,” he said. “I will not talk for him.” 

That meant yes and that Thomas was still, in some way, pained by the memory. John let it go, he had no desire to upset Thomas. None of his questions had been answered, but he was in no mood to drag Thomas’ mood down. That was certainly not why he had been brought to his rooms. “Tell me about Mrs Hamilton.” 

“Miranda?” he asked, clearly surprised and pleased by the change in topic. 

“She must have been quite the woman to get you to do something you didn’t want to,” he said, grinning. “And half the island thought she was a witch that had James doing her bidding. I would have liked to have known her better.” 

Thomas laughed, dropping a kiss on John’s hair. John closed his eyes, pleased that he’d apparently done the right thing. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to marry her,” Thomas said. “I just thought she would regret it. She was not quite in our social circles, but ours was not a bad match. Although my father always thought her too wild and opinionated, and that was before the gossip of her affairs.” 

“Affairs?” John asked, looking at him again. 

“Well,” Thomas shrugged. “I could not give her everything a husband would, and I never wished to deny her any happiness. She was my partner, in all things, always. I wanted her to live the life she wanted.” 

“What was that?” John asked. 

“To be allowed to live it,” Thomas said, voice heavy. “She railed against the constraints of society more than I ever did. She wanted to be free to pursue things that women were never really permitted.”

“I can see why you were so drawn to her.” John allowed himself to give in and lay a kiss on the closet part of Thomas to him. It landed strangely, hitting his wrist. But he was rewarded with another kiss on the head. “How did you meet?”

Thomas talked. First of just Miranda, and then of how they met James. John soaked in the words. The life Thomas painted with his words might as well have been a different world for all John recognised his own experiences in it. But his voice was soothing and the stories funny and moving in turns. He let him talk, asking just enough questions for the conversation to continue to move forward. 

Eventually he must have nodded off because the next thing he knew was Thomas nudging him, kissing his cheek, and whispering, “John, you should go to bed. It’s late.” 

“No,” John muttered. “It’s comfortable here.” 

“For now,” Thomas said, apparently amused. “But spending the night in these chairs is not something you will thank me for letting you do in the morning.” 

He sighed, knowing Thomas was right. But he was so tired the thought of finding his way to his own room seemed more than he could muster the energy for. He sat up, rubbing his face and trying to force himself to stand. 

“You could stay,” Thomas said, voice light in a way that John knew immediately was forced. 

He looked at him. “I could?” 

Thomas let out a breath. “Yes,” he smiled, soft and fond. “I’m not certain if James will return tonight, but I’d like you to stay, if you want to.” 

John swallowed, his skin starting to prickle with something like anticipation. He hesitated, unsure how to form the words he wanted to say. He nodded, instead. Thomas smiled at him, clearly happy, and John took a breath, braced himself for Thomas to make a move toward him. 

And then… nothing. Thomas got ready for bed. He paused, when he’d washed his face, to kiss John softly, before getting into the bed. John could only blink back at him, baffled. But there was nothing left for him to do but follow Thomas’ lead and get ready to join him. 

Then they were sharing a bed. Again. Like before they’d come back to James. It was surreal, how familiar it felt, and yet so utterly different. His body felt like it was buzzing, intensely aware of Thomas next to him. He was radiating heat, and John longed to reach out and touch him, but didn’t know how. 

He hardly slept. He waited all night for movement from the other side of the bed, for Thomas to move closer. To touch him. For _something._ But nothing happened. Thomas seemed to sleep peacefully, quiet as ever and curled into himself, like he was making himself smaller. 

John watched him, wondering what he was thinking. Why had he asked John to stay? Just for some company? Did he want him sexually at all? 

Come morning he’d run through every scenario for how he could bring it up and ask what was happening and dismissed them all. He didn’t have a choice but to wait. He just had to be prepared to wait. He needed to let James and Thomas come to him when they wanted to. 

That lasted for less than a week. 

All his good intentions were washed away in the face of his utter bafflement and frustrated desire. He finally broke when they were all in James’ room. They’d spent another evening as though not much had changed. They’d talked and laughed and then when it was so late John's eyes were dropping, James had got up to usher him to his own room and kissed him. Deep and passionate. 

“Goodnight,” he whispered, stepping back. 

The words slipped out before John could do anything to stop them. “Are we ever going to fuck?” 

James and Thomas turned as one to stare at him. 

“Well?” he asked when no answer was forthcoming. “Only, it’s been weeks and I thought-” He felt so incredibly stupid the moment the words were out that he wanted to take them back. He shifted uncomfortably. “Obviously if the answer is no, I will respect that, but… I just… I wanted to know what to expect. What you expect from me.”

“What we… _expect from you_ ,” James said, voice questioning and slow, measured. 

“Well,” John said, clenching and unclenching his hands in frustration, “you know what I mean.” 

“Do we?” James asked, raising both eyebrows at him. 

John wanted to turn and leave, or maybe hide under the nearest piece of furniture. He held his ground instead. 

“Do you want to fuck us?” This from Thomas who was clearly trying not to smile. The utter, fucking _bastard_. 

“I think I’ve been quite clear on that,” John said, aiming for some dignity, despite it being much too late for it.

“We wanted to give you time,” Thomas said, gently now, like John was an invalid or something. 

“Time?” he snapped. “For what? How much preparation will I need exactly?” It was the wrong choice of words, he knew, because both of the other men’s faces froze so they didn’t react. He let out a slow breath. “You know what I meant.” 

“Yes,” James said. “But, you haven’t actually answered the question, John.”

“Yes I have,” he lied. He’d implied it, though, surely that was enough.

“We wanted you to be sure,” Thomas said, voice reasonable in a way that made John want to hit him. 

“You’ve talked about it, then?” he asked. Turning the question back on them was only fair. 

They looked at each other and then back at John. “Yes,” James said. 

Somehow it was worse, that James was the one to say it. The weight of it on his tongue was more, heavier, than it would have been from Thomas. John swallowed. “What have you talked about?” he managed after a moment. 

There was another look between James and Thomas. “Come here, John,” James said, voice low but no less commanding for that. 

John’s pulse ticked up under the sound of his voice, under the slow words as they crept right up his spine. He did as he was bade. 

James reached for him when he was close enough, his hand touching his cheek gently. John leant into the touch, closing his eyes for a moment. “What are you asking?” James asked, voice low. “What do you want to know?” 

“I…” John started, opening his eyes but finding James looking at him so closely, made him close them again. “I wanted to know if you want me.” 

James took a breath in, slow, and let it out. He inched forward and kissed him. It was slow but not in any way lacking the usual passion that James poured into everything he did. John could do nothing but cling to him and kiss him back. 

Then Thomas was there, standing close behind him, moving his hair to drop kisses on his neck.

John had been an idiot. 

He’d spent so long wondering if this would ever happen that he’d never actually considered what would happen if and when it did. He wasn’t prepared for the feeling of. Being loved by one of them was almost too much as it was. Both of them together? John would probably not make it through the night. 

Then Thomas reached around him, taking James' hand and John realised that he didn’t care. If this was to be his end then he would take it gladly. 

“Yes,” Thomas whispered into his skin, right where it had been warmed by his lips.

John shivered. “What?” 

“Yes, we want you,” he replied.

John let out a slightly mortifying groan. 

“Come to the bed,” James said, next, pulling at his jacket. 

John could only nod, letting himself be manoeuvred towards the other side of the room. James was already removing his own jacket as they went, and John’s breathing sped up at the sight of it. 

“Here,” Thomas said, coming to stand behind him, pressing close to John’s back. He pressed back immediately into the heat of him. “Let me.” Thomas started at his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly, leaving John the view of James disrobing. 

It was a confusing set of feelings. He wanted to close his eyes to better feel the way Thomas' hands felt as they brushed against more and more of his bear skin. He wanted to press back, to feel Thomas’ body, to feel the hard length of his cock against his arse. But closing his eyes meant missing the sight of James. And he looked _so good_. Pale skin, dusted with freckles, over hard muscles. The scars that littered his body made John want to touch them. Want to touch all of him at once. His hands flexed uselessly at his sides. He waited until Thomas had undone his trousers to bend down and take them off. It left him naked, but that didn’t even occur to him, so intent was he on getting to James. 

They hadn’t managed to fully remove their clothes last time. A thought that had plagued John afterwards. He wasn’t going to miss the chance to finally know what it would feel like to have nothing between them. He sighed into the kiss when he reached him, James not hesitating to pull him close. His hands ran down John’s sides, goosebumps rising in their wake. He shivered again, pressing closer, as though he could eliminate all the space still between them. They kissed, pressed hard against one another, rubbing and sliding skin against skin. John felt like he might be about to catch fire. 

“Come here,” Thomas said, suddenly, at his side. 

John pulled back from James to see Thomas - who had taken the opportunity of them being distracted to undress - smiling softly at him. He looked beautiful, his muscles clearly defined from the hard work he’d still been expected to carry out since joining _The Walrus_. His skin was more golden where the sun had caught it than James’. John reached for him as though possessed. He felt unreal, like he’d been given something that the God’s had previously only kept for themselves. Surely no mortal was allowed so much all at once. 

Thomas kissed him deeply, tugging him until they fell back on to the bed. 

“I want to see you kiss,” John panted, “I want-”

But he didn’t have to find any more words. James and Thomas reached for each other coming to kneel together in the middle of the bed as they kissed. John watched them move together, a well-practised dance. It was more than he’d imagined it, more intimate, more beautiful, more erotic than anything he’d experienced in his life. 

“Fuck,” he huffed, reaching out to run a hand over Thomas’ arm. It was the closest thing to him, and he was rewarded by Thomas reaching for him, linking their fingers together while he continued to kiss James. 

When he pulled back, he looked at him and smiled. “Do you want to fuck me, John?” he asked, slowly but clearly, so there could be no mistaking his words. “Or watch while James and I fuck?”

John couldn’t form a single word. His hand flexed, fingers tightening in Thomas’ as his stomach muscles flexed and his cock jumped. 

“There’s time for everything,” James said, beside him, hands gentle and calming on his flank. “This isn’t the end of anything, it’s the start. Take your time.” 

“I want…” John started, overwhelmed. “I want-” Thomas’ hands were on him again and he couldn’t seem to form any more words. 

“Here,” Thomas said, pulling back from a kiss and pressing something into John’s hand. He looked down at the bottle and blinked in confusion. 

“Where did you even get this?” John asked, breathless and feeling wild. 

“We’re sleeping within ten foot of a brothel,” Thomas said, sounding indignant. “How do you think I got it?” 

That sparked a lot more questions than it answered, frankly, but now really wasn’t the time. Thomas was moving against him, pushing up behind John, rubbing against him and John could do little more than whimper with feeling. James shuffled forward to press to John’s front, he could feel the length of his body, hard and unyielding. He wanted to press back into Thomas while also pressing forward into James. It was too much and not enough. His body felt tight with want, little shocks of pleasure rushing through him at every movement. 

Thomas pushed forward, reaching over John to pull James into a kiss over John’s shoulder. He looked at them, then had to close his eyes, overwhelmed again. He could feel them both. Feel how much they wanted him, wanted each other. Wanted _this_. It was more than he’d ever hoped for. It was too much. 

“I need you to...” he started, and then stopped, shaking his head. “Please, I can’t, I need-”

“Okay,” Thomas said gently, lips back at John’s neck. “It’s okay, John, we’ve got you.” 

John swallowed heavily, reaching between the press of bodies to touch James. He was rewarded by a grunt and hitch in his hips, pressing back into his hand. John felt ridiculously powerful. He could feel when Thomas smiled against his skin, it made him do the same, tilting his head back until he was resting against Thomas' shoulder, giving him better access to his neck. He moved his fist over James, loving the way he felt in his hand. He reached up blindly with the other to cradle Thomas’ head, keeping him pressed into his skin. He could feel Thomas’ cock sliding against him, damp and hard in a way that made John’s skin prickle with desire. 

It was so different from being with women. James and Thomas’ arousal was somehow more present and literal. He had worried that he wouldn’t know what to do. But this he understood. He could make them feel good. This he would be able to do. Even if the particulars were still a mystery to him. 

Thomas’ hand snaked down to take John’s cock in his hand and began to stroke him. He gasped, surprised and suddenly much too close to coming.

“Wait,” he panted. “ _Fuck_ … just- just wait, I need to taste you.” 

He hadn’t really intended to say it, but he needed to stop Thomas from touching him or this was all going to be over before they’d actually managed anything at all. James pulled back, and grinned at him so happily that John was forced to wonder how often he’d pictured exactly what was about to happen. He grinned back, suddenly so intent on giving a good show that his nerves almost disappeared entirely. 

He turned, a little awkward where they were all knelt on the bed, so he could pull and push at Thomas until he was lying down on the bed. When he had him arranged to his liking, John crawled down his body, kissing and nipping at his skin as he went. Thomas laughed, pleased and flushed, watching his progress with hooded eyes. He reached out for James pulling him down into a kiss just as John reached his destination. 

He’d never sucked a cock before. But he’d seen and felt it done. Surely it couldn’t be so difficult. Although, when he was eye level with Thomas’, he was suddenly a lot more intimidated than he’d expected. He’d known, from everything that had happened between them before, that Thomas was going to be impressive. But, still, he hadn’t been prepared for the sight of it. He hadn’t expected to find it so exciting, and his mouth filled with saliva as he looked at it. 

He didn’t let himself overthink, casting one last look up at Thomas and James, who were still kissing, as Thomas’ hand snaked down James’ torso. John grinned and ducked his head. 

Thomas sucked in a sharp breath above him and John felt a little thrill of victory. He sucked the head, just like he liked when he was on the receiving end of this act, before sliding down the length of it. There was no way he was going to fit anywhere near all of it in his mouth, but he could work the rest with his hand. John was nothing if not inventive. He was also very focused, so focused, in fact, on wringing out little gasps and exclamations from Thomas that he didn’t realise that James had moved until he was suddenly kneeling behind John, running his hands down his back, and pulling up his hips. John let himself be moved, hitching his hips, without lifting his head so that James could snake his hand around John and start to stroke his cock. He’d clearly taken the time to coat his hand in some of the oil as it was slick and smooth as it moved over him. It felt so good John could feel it right down to his toes. James was kneeling behind him, pressing forward, rubbing himself against him as he stroked him. 

“Fuck,” Thomas gasped, and John had to look up. Thomas was staring blearily down at them, watching the scene with a very pleased, if dazed, expression. “You’re so good at that,” he managed, before flopping back against the pillow. 

John tried not to preen too obviously at the compliment. James huffed a laugh, draping himself over his back, his hand moving slowly over John’s cock in time with his own little thrusts. 

“So good,” James muttered into the skin of his shoulder, “you feel so good.” 

His cock jumped in response to the words. He inhaled hard, sucking just a little harder. He’d never considered getting fucked before that moment. He’d thought, vaguely, that it might happen at some point. But he’d been decidedly hazy on the exact mechanisms of how it would work. But with sudden, startling clarity, he knew that he wanted it, wanted James to slide into him, just the way that his shallow little thrusts were hinting at. He moaned at the thought, his cock jumping again, and Thomas' hands were suddenly in his hair, tugging gently.

“John,” he panted insistently, “ _John_.” 

He knew what he meant, and pulled back, not sure he was quite ready to know how it was going to feel to have someone finish in his mouth. He knelt and James pressed himself fully to his back, running one hand over his stomach while the other worked his cock. John groaned, but reached forward for Thomas, grabbing his hand and encouraging him to get up. Thankfully Thomas knew what he wanted, kneeling and coming forward so he could press himself against John in the mirror of how James was doing it. 

John took Thomas' cock in his hand, it was still slick with his spit and he was able to move his hand easily over it. Thomas moaned into the kiss that he was pressing to the side of John’s mouth. Then he was moving to kiss James over John’s shoulder. He was pressed tight between them; it left little room for either him or James to move their hands, but it hardly mattered anymore. They were all so lost in the feeling. There was some more movement and John realised that Thomas was stroking James, all three of them coming closer to the edge, pressed tightly together on the bed. 

“Next time,” John managed to gasp, his arousal so strong that he couldn’t be embarrassed, either by his words nor the breathless way he said them, “I want one of you to fuck me. I want to feel what it’s like with you inside me.” 

“Fuck,” someone muttered, it didn’t matter who, because it was all it took for John to start coming. He grunted, the feeling sweeping through him like a tide. It was too much, for a moment everything tightened almost unbearably. He might have shouted, he wasn’t sure, and then he could feel Thomas follow him over the edge. 

He lost himself for long moments, the feeling overwhelming him completely. He’d never felt so connected to his own body, or to another person’s, before. It was more than physical, it was like something in him had reached out to James and Thomas and pulled them into him. It was the sort of feeling that changed you. Something in him shifted that would never go back. 

When he managed to blink his eyes open, they were horizontal, but still pressed tightly together. His face was buried in Thomas’ chest, and James was tucked against his back. He looked down to see their hands joined and resting on his side.

“Fucking hell,” he said, voice rough. 

Thomas hummed, opening his eyes to smile at him. He looked so fond and happy that John laughed. 

“Worth the wait?” James asked, the fucking self-satisfied fucker. 

“I suppose,” he said. Grinning at the smile Thomas gave him. John reached forward and kissed the tip of his nose, delighted at being able to. “But I think we can do better.” 

James laughed. “Next time,” he said. He kissed John’s back. 

It felt good. _He_ felt good. Wrung out and totally relaxed, like all the tension had suddenly drained from his body. He laughed again. “Yes,” he agreed. “Next time.” 

Thomas kissed him and John closed his eyes. Happy and content in a way he hadn’t even known it was possible to be before that very moment. 

***

John woke in the first early light of morning. He could hear the sounds of Nassau floating in through the window, carried by the sea breeze. There was a warm, solid presence at his back, another pressed down his front. He opened one eye to find the face of a clearly sleeping James in front of him. He looked younger in sleep, soft almost. John’s heart swelled. 

He carefully shifted to look over his shoulder, and smiled to find Thomas’ now frowning as John jostled him, which caused him to tighten his arm where it was wrapped around his waist in response, as though pulling John back down. 

“Good morning.” James’ voice was rough, amused. Happy. 

John turned back to look at him, the corner of his own mouth turning up.

“You’re not going to run off again are you?” James asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “Or will you at least stay for breakfast?” 

“He’s staying a damn site longer than that,” Thomas murmured. His fingers splayed where they were resting on John’s stomach. They reached from his belly button right down to brush where his cock was starting to rise with definite interest. 

John’s eyes fluttered closed. “I could stay,” he said, as Thomas pulled him back into him, rolling his hips against him so John could feel very clearly that he wasn’t the only one interested in another go. 

Thomas kissed his shoulder, lifting up and he clearly made eye contact with James, because the other man leant forward to kiss him. John took advantage of that by burying his head into James’ shoulder and placing a sloppy kiss there. 

The morning turned out to be one of the best of John's life.

_TBC_


	8. Chapter 8

John soon found that James was as relentless in his affections as he was in almost every other aspect of his life. His hands seemed to be everywhere. The moment they were alone, James was touching him. It wasn’t always sexual. Often it was a simple hand on his shoulder or the brushing of John's hair away from his face. John found himself unable to resist leaning into every touch, like he was trying to soak them up. 

Thomas was no less affectionate, but in less physical ways. His affection was in smiles and jokes. His was handing John books with a stern lecture on how he ought best to enjoy reading them. His was to offer to read them to him when John was too tired to keep his eyes open long enough to take a single thing in. His voice would lull John to sleep, head pillowed in Thomas’ lap, with Thomas’ hand in his hair. James would find them like that, sometimes, would slip into bed beside them. 

John wanted to bask in it. Wanted to soak it into his soul and let it nourish him. He wanted to store it somewhere, tuck the feeling deep inside himself, so that once it was gone he might still have a piece of it safe and unharmed. He found himself reaching for more moments that he could store, as though they might be able to fuel him after it was gone. 

So he reached out, tried to pull them closer, but he also found himself watching for the cracks. Waiting for the moment that their affection would fade into annoyance, or worse, indifference. Every day that it didn’t happen he wanted to be more grateful, but found himself jittery instead. James and Thomas meanwhile seemed to hardly notice his torment. They smiled at him, made jokes, pulled him down into a tangle of limbs at night as one of them read from a book and the others made jokes, or asked questions, sometimes just repeated back lines they liked. 

John had never thought he would feel as accepted as he had on board _The Walrus_. He’d never dreamt of mattering to people, of finding a place he felt wanted. But there, in James’ room, he felt something start to unfurl inside himself. It was vast and terrifying. He’d never wanted anything in his life like he wanted the thing that had grown between them all to last. Now he knew what it was like to have the love of these men, he wouldn’t be able to walk away. He’d never again want to be alone. He knew that first morning when he woke to find them both still in bed with him, that he would do anything to protect them. That he would be capable of everything Flint had ever done and more, worse, if it meant that it kept them from harm. 

The thoughts scared him, but there was little he could do about it, nothing he _wanted_ to do, that might disturb the equilibrium they'd all found. But his anxiousness stayed and he found himself more invested in the peace of Nassau, in the welfare of the crew, the potential of attack from Rogers than he'd ever thought possible. He found himself thinking over potential situations almost obsessively, like if he planned well enough he would be able to control them all. He knew it was foolish, but there was no other path forward that he could see. He was going to be forced to grip on to what he'd found, white-knuckled, until the very last of his strength left him. 

*****

James wanted to sigh when John suggested it, but knew immediately that he was right, so instead he contented himself with raising an eyebrow at him. “A prize?” 

“Yes,” John said. “The men need a distraction; we’ve been on the island too long and we’ll start to lose them if we wait too long.” His shirt was mostly unbuttoned; not an uncommon state of affairs, John had never met a shirt he wanted to do up to a decent height, but it was more distracting than ever. James could see the expanse of sun-browned skin and collarbone beneath and his eyes kept snagging there, unable to look away. 

It had been like that with Thomas, too. Still was, in many ways, but now with John it was almost impossible to think about anything else. It had been a long ten years of hardly thinking about his own body at all, other than what it was physically capable of making him do for the cause of freeing Nassau. But now it was like he was waking from a long and terrible sleep and his body was alive with sensations and desires that he’d almost forgotten it was possible for him to feel. 

He blinked and forced his eyes back to John’s. He sighed. “And you have a tip?”

John grinned, pleased and a little teasing. It made heat pool in James’ stomach. “What makes you think that?” 

“An educated guess,” he said, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet on the table. 

John watched him for a moment, teasing out the moment. “Okay,” he said, like he was doing James some great favour. “Max did mention something about a merchant ship that was carrying payment as well as goods.” 

“Did she?” he asked, although it was more speculation on its accuracy than the existence of the information itself. 

John knew that of course. “It would appear the channels of communication are once again up and running.” 

“And we got the first refusal on this information?” 

“On this particular tip?” John said, spreading his hand. “Yes, although I suspect she has more to keep the other captains happy too. What do you say?” He grinned. “Fancy being a pirate again for a few weeks rather than a politician?” 

John hated his role on Nassau more than James did. James was surprised, in a way, at the revelation. John was so natural with people that he’d thought his role in the Governing the island would be much preferable to the hard life onboard ship, but John seemed to buck at the expectations on him. He supposed John was more playing a role here than when they were at sea, where he mostly seemed to do as he pleased. Still, it made James feel fond of him in an entirely new way to see how poorly the power of Long John Silver sat with him. 

In truth, he’d found it disquieting when John had talked about how good the darkness had felt after Dufresne. It wasn’t a sentiment that he’d shared; his horror at what he was capable of given the right motivation had never ceased to disgust and terrify him. So to hear that John was starting to give into those urges had set him on edge. He supposed, in hindsight, that it must have been part of why John left. That motivation he could well understand, even if the sting of rejection might never fade entirely. 

But they’d come a long way since then. The John before him now seemed almost as different as Long John Silver did to the man he’d first met. John seemed to be ever evolving in a way that James didn't think himself capable of. It was impressive, how he could adapt, if confusing when James felt so rooted in place. 

“Very well,” he said, allowing himself to smile, it made John’s own smile grow. “But you’re telling Thomas he has to stop playing politics and come with us.” 

John’s smile dimmed. “Aren’t you the captain?” 

“I think you know that matters to him just slightly less than it does to you,” he said, easy with the idea, now. John was never going to follow orders, but he was now sure that they could trust him to always align himself with James’ goals. 

***

There were plenty of reasons for him not to go. He was needed if anyone got injured. He was still a relativity new member of the crew. He was still one of the few among them that could read and keep the inventory. But none of those reasons were going to hold forever. He was going to have to be a part of a fight. He was going to have to spill blood if he was going to stay. He’d known that from the moment he agreed to stay. James might have had other ideas, but not Thomas. He’d never relished the thought, had never understood the glamour so many men found in violence. But he was resolute in the knowledge of its necessity. He would stand by James, and now by John. He would be part of the fight in every way he could. 

His skills were not what James would call anywhere near perfect, but even James seemed to think he’d be able to hold his own. 

“Stay close to John,” he’d said at the close of their last sparring session, eyes hard and unreadable - a sure sign that he was scared. “Stay out of the way and don’t initiate anything, wait for them to come to you.”

Thomas had smiled, the prospect of a battle remote and unreal-seeming at the time. “You think I’m ready?” 

“I think you won’t know that until you’re in the middle of it,” he’d said, serious and unmoved by Thomas’ grin. 

He’d thought he’d understood what James had meant, had thought that somehow with what he’d seen since joining _The Walrus_ that he knew what to expect. But the moment that the call went up that the ship wasn’t surrendering, that they’d have to take her by force, he knew he’d been wrong. His heart started to beat hard in his chest as he looked at John. They’d locked eyes and he could see John’s fear, not for himself, but for him. John had been against Thomas fighting since the start, despite agreeing that it was really the only way the men would accept him. Thomas swallowed, tried to smile but John was already moving, shouting orders and heading towards James. 

It began to blur after that, once the cannon fire started, he couldn’t keep track of what was happening, even if he’d had a better grasp of nautical battle strategy. There was no getting his bearings, the smoke was too thick and the shouts too loud for him to discern anything of use. The ships rocked and wailed with the strain, agonising splintering cracked through the air as a cannon fired. It was like the ships themselves were screaming along with the wounded and dying. Thomas was thrown off-balance as the ships connected. He looked around wildly as the ship roiled in the waves. How could anyone follow what was happening? 

He looked up frantically, finding James and John, braced and apparently calm watching the unfolding events from the poop deck. They called orders that were followed with ease as the men moved around Thomas. The crew had been preparing for battle since the prize was sighted. They had begun to transform from the men Thomas knew to the monsters that he’d read about so long ago in London. They painted their faces, took off their shirts and even put in jagged, sharp teeth. A performance, he knew, but no less terrifying for the knowledge. 

This wasn’t like the other prizes they’d won. This was a real battle. His heart was beating so hard in his chest it hurt. He looked back at James and John, as the other men all seemed to do the same. They were as transformed as the rest of the crew, although they needed no war paint or monstrous teeth to do it. It was like the James and John he knew, had woken up with so recently, were gone. Instead there stood Captain Flint and Long John Silver in all their terrible glory. It was as awe-inspiring as it was terrifying. 

He’d felt out of his depth almost constantly since he’d woken up from his drugged stupor to find John looming over him and trying to ransom him to a family that hated him. But, this, this was something entirely different. He’d never killed anyone. He’d seen plenty of violence, acts of brutality that still woke him at night with bile in his throat and a scream halfway to his lips. But he’d never been the one to inflict it. Nor had he called the people inflicting it friends. 

But this was what James and John did. Their reputations were not built on good story-telling alone; they’d had to fight for it, bloodied and terrible, every step of the way. He swallowed down the bitter taste of terror at the back of his throat. He wasn’t ready, had been a fool to think that he would ever be ready, to see a battle like this first hand. 

“Prepare to board!” James’ voice was sure and hard, unyielding. The other ship was going to be taken, and there was no force that could stop him. Thomas looked up at him, gripping his sword tightly to stop his hands from shaking visibly.

He was knocked as someone pushed by him, moving to the side of the ship to throw down planks to start the crossing. He watched them, the vanguard, as they poured over the side. James’ coat billowed as he stepped out, sure and steady. He didn’t look back, didn’t check to see who was with him, like he might take the ship himself if needed. Watching him, Thomas believed that he might. He was beautiful. 

There was a hand on his arm and he startled, finding John as his side. “Come on,” John said, voice low and urgent, pulling him gently. “But stay back and let the others do the fighting as much as possible.” 

Thomas’ mouth worked but he couldn’t find the words. He wanted to tell John not to go, which was absurd. He was a pirate. They were starting a rebellion. There was going to be fighting. No one was going to be spared that. Not even him. Certainly not the men he loved. He forced himself to stand straight and nod his head, just once. 

“I’ll be fine,” he said, surprised that he sounded almost normal. 

John’s mouth quirked up, amused, despite the chaos around him. He was peaceful, the eye of the storm that raged about them. Thomas blinked at him, taken aback. But then pushed him gently. “Go,” he said, “James was the first one over there, we need to follow.” 

“He always has to do everything himself,” John grumbled, but with another soft smile. Then he turned and there was no choice but to follow him.

Thomas found that he remembered little of the battle after it was over. There were snatches of memory, blood and the feeling of the wet slide of his sword as it connected with flesh for the first time. In the end he couldn’t think while it was happening, there was no time. Men screamed and wailed as they came toward him and he reacted in a way that felt primordial. He wasn’t sure if he would have been capable of not killing once he was in the situation where it was that or die. Or letting his friends, letting John or James, die.

Not that he was sure he actually killed anyone in the end. He slashed and pushed and men fell away. Whether that was because he was so much taller than most of them, or more likely, because Long John Silver and Captain Flint walked in front of him, he wasn’t sure.

There was blood. More blood than he’d ever seen. Even in Bedlam after some of the procedures, when he’d thought that there could not possibly be more blood in a human, it hadn’t looked like that other ship did after just a few minutes.

He wasn’t thinking, was barely breathing, when he looked up to find John fighting a man that must have been taller even than Thomas. He was wielding an axe with such ferocity that he wondered, dumbly, if this might be Ajax reborn. He wondered who that made him, just as John dodged the axe only to be caught by a sword swiped by a man at his side. John gasped in pain, dropping his own weapon and everything seemed to slow down as Thomas watched in dumb horror. 

He couldn’t move, couldn’t cry out, couldn’t look away even though he knew that he was about to watch John die. He’d never felt so useless, so terrified and sick, in his life. 

And then James was there, catching the second blow of the sword with his own, parrying and dispatching the man with ease. John was already going for his own sword when James slashed at Ajax’s arm, making him wince and fall back, not dropping his weapon, but clearly pained. James pressed the advantage, fury and greater skill clearly no match for the man’s brute strength.

Thomas, torn between watching James and John, almost didn’t notice the man coming toward him until it was too late. He dodged the blow and swung back, his longer reach, yet again giving him a vital advantage. He hardly looked at his attacker as he fell to the ground, pushing blindly forward until he could see John. He had his sword again and some of _The Walrus_ crew had rallied around him, not that he seemed as bothered by the wound as Thomas had feared. 

Despite the apparent danger having passed, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath as he made his way to his side. “John!” he cried, heart hammering and terror still clawing up his spine as he finally got close enough to be heard.

John turned, his face pale and pinched. He nodded, perhaps trying to seem reassuring. It didn’t work. 

"You should go back,” Thomas managed, hoping his voice didn’t sound as weak and faltering to everyone else as it did in his own ears. “You’re hurt.” 

John shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. Then his eyes swept over Thomas. “Are you alright?” 

Thomas didn’t get a chance to answer. The chaos didn’t stop just because John was hurt. Nothing stopped because Thomas so desperately wanted it to. He stuck close to John, as though he might be able to stop any further harm coming to him. He couldn’t see James. He was almost thankful for that, wasn’t sure if he could bear to see anything happen to him. His heart was pounding and the fight seemed to have lasted several days and mere moments at once. Every part of him ached and the terror never seemed to fade, but there was no pause, no chance to catch his breath. 

He wasn’t sure when the shift happened, but all at once he knew they were winning. There was something in the air, _The Walrus_ crew were advancing across the ship and nothing seemed able to repel them. There were shouts and then James was suddenly there, a man held at the tip of his sword. The other captain. 

It was over. 

The fighting all around him came slowly to a halt as the other crew began to give up their weapons. His hands were shaking so badly he nearly dropped his sword, he held it tight with aching fingers at his side. All around him _The Walrus_ crew were cheering. He looked away from them, down at the deck. Blood covered the wood, running in rivets past his feet. 

He went back to _The Walrus_. He left John, who was holding his arm stiffly but refusing to acknowledge he was in real pain. He left James overseeing the seizing of the haul. His ears were still ringing with cannon fire and the shouts of wounded men. The rest of the crew were taking off the masks of piratehood as he passed, turning back into men. Thomas adverted his eyes and quickened his pace. There was blood caked on his hands, down the front of his shirt, on his boots. When he looked in the small mirror in James’ quarters, he found it smeared across his face and streaked in his hair. 

His hands continued to shake as he tried to wipe away the blood. He had to gather himself. He was needed. There were wounded men that needed tending to. The haul needed to be accounted for and stored. The ship would need repairs. And he shouldn’t even be in the Captain’s quarters. Not without James there to grant his permission; the men wouldn’t like it.

He took a shaking breath, trying to will his heart to stop pounding. For the first time he wondered what his father had felt when James took his ship. What Peter felt as he watched Charles Town burn around him. He wasn’t sure what he felt for them now. Not compassion, he was sure, but perhaps a strange form of kinship. He felt wrong and more out of place on the ship than he ever had before. Perhaps he was more of his father’s and Peter’s world than this one. Perhaps that’s what the men saw when they looked at him, in fact he was sure it was, he just hadn’t agreed until now. 

He could never kill with the ease of John and James, he knew that now. It was a skill they’d learned young. Born of a need to survive and an absolute belief in the fact they could, and that surviving was more important than the life in front of them. He didn’t blame them for that. He loved them for that part of themselves as much as he did all the others. Their brutality was not something he feared or was repulsed by. He was honest enough with himself to know that he was drawn to it. But it was not an attribute that he shared. He was not capable of the violence that this war would require. He couldn’t fathom finding it within himself. How had either of them survived these long years in this life and remained kind and giving? How were they still capable of laughter and love? He would never be able to hold his humanity and do it. 

He looked at his bloodied hands and wondered at John’s life before he met James. He’d never told him anything that could be held onto as true. James’ story was short and bleak before the navy, and structured and brutal after it. His darkness had curled tight in him from when he was so young he didn’t even know what it was. It made Thomas wonder, now, about John in a way he never had before. How far down had he buried his own capacity for violence before he met James? What had caused it? What terrible deeds had befallen him that necessitated cultivating it?

He’d always know that John and James shared something. It was more than a simple matter of enjoying each other’s company - for they often didn’t. It was more than the fact they were both physically very appealing. More even than that they had been forced into commanding a crew in the most extreme circumstances and found themselves compatible, had found in fact that they filled parts of the other they didn’t even know were missing, making an authority so complete the men talked of them in hushed awe. No. It was that they understood one another in a way Thomas could never comprehend. They understood the power of violence, how to use it and when. They understood how to live with that shadow and not allow it to make them lesser, make them anything other than human and good. 

He wiped the blood off his hands and realised almost too late that he was going to be sick. He managed to empty his stomach into a bucket and knelt, heaving for a long moment, his heart hammering and eyes streaming. 

He took a breath. He had to get himself together. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this. Not the men, and certainly not James or John. He couldn’t bear the thought of them seeing him so weak. He didn’t want their pity or understanding in this. His own naivety at what fighting would mean was humiliating to remember. He gritted his teeth and pulled himself to his feet. He found a rag and wiped uselessly at his face. But his heart wouldn’t stop racing, no matter what he did. It was almost the exact opposite of when he faded out. Everything was too real, like he could feel everything: his clothes against his skin, the way the dried blood was cracking around his knuckles, the nicks where blades had grazed him in the battle. It was too much. Odd, disconnected moments of the battle flashed in front of his eyes in vivid detail over and over. 

John had nearly died. He’d nearly had to watch him die. 

The thought played over and over in his mind. It was like he could see it, could still feel the uselessness in his own body to do anything but stand there and wait for him to die. That man had been huge. There was nothing that John could have done to fight him and the other man at once. If James hadn’t been there, if James had been beset by someone else at the wrong moment- 

He wretched again.

He forced another hitching breath. He needed to leave. He couldn’t be there when James got back. His breath caught in his chest with every breath, but it didn’t matter. He needed to distract himself, needed to move. The thought of being found in James' quarters was worse than being seen by the other men in his still panicked state. He picked the bucket up and left. 

He found work below deck. First tending to the wounded. Then there were repairs, and while it wasn’t his skill, he followed instructions. He drew himself inwards, carefully shutting down all his thoughts and then his feelings. He watched his hands work until they stopped seeming so real. He’d done that in Bedlam during the treatments. It was easier to imagine it was happening to someone else. Then at the plantation it seemed better, to let his body do the work while his mind retreated elsewhere. 

“Silver’s back,” someone said, grinning at him and startling him back to himself. 

Thomas looked at him, blinking, and for a moment was totally unsure why he was being informed about it. Their story from Nassau seemed so long ago he’d almost forgotten it entirely. Since they became real, the fictional aspects of their relationship had faded to the point where he hadn’t remembered that the men thought anything about it. 

He couldn’t find the words to respond, so he nodded instead, tried to force his face into a smile. He wasn’t sure if it worked. It felt strange, stiff, when he tried. He looked away, back at his hands.

He didn’t go to John. He should have. He should have checked on his wound, stitched it and cleaned it. But James could do that. Perhaps that's what they'd done before Thomas was there to do it, after the other battles they’d shared. Hadn’t James been one of the ones to tend to John after he lost his leg? James much better understood what it was to feel the pain John was in. They should be together. They’d likely feel something like joy, or at least accomplishment, at their work today. They didn’t need Thomas to tamp down on their mood, or to worry them with how _strange_ he felt, how unreal. 

His heart would start to hammer if he thought of that other ship, of the noise, of John’s cry of pain and fear. He didn’t want to think about it and he would have no choice if he saw them. He needed to keep working, keep the thoughts away until he was strong enough to deal with them. 

Someone offered him food. He took the plate but his stomach roiled at the thought of eating. He put it down. Carried on working. Someone mentioned that Silver was asking for him. He nodded again. Went back to work. Night fell before someone else told him the Captain was asking for him. He paused. He should go to him. It was his duty as well as the polite thing to do. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t sure what either of them would see in his eyes. He swallowed and opened his mouth. 

“Tell him that I’ve gone to sleep,” he said. 

Howard glared at him. 

Thomas shook his head. “I’m going to bed now,” he argued. “If I go there he’ll start talking and I’ll never get back here.” 

Howard was unmoved.

He sighed. “Fine,” he agreed, knowing that he wasn’t going but unable to formulate another argument. He would have to leave what he was doing, find something else. He nodded at Howard and walked away. His heart was ticking up, like a clock wound too tight. It hurt, his chest feeling constricted. He took a breath, hoping to steady himself and forced his legs to carry him above deck. 

It was cooler out there, a breeze hitting his skin and making it prickle uncomfortably. He let out a breath when neither John nor James were waiting for him. He hesitated, as though he might be able to guess which direction was least likely to bring him to them, before he started to walk. 

He found Bobby, who he’d seen take a sword slash to his leg, but who had not been to see him. The wound needed to be tended to. He insisted that he do it then and there. Bobby grumbled and swore, but didn’t actually stop him. He worked as slowly as he dared, trying not to think about what had happened to inflict the injury. How many were dead? He shook his head and focused on the work. 

When he was done he sat in the light of the lamp and closed his eyes. Bobby went to try and sleep. Thomas was sure that James and John would come to find him soon. He’d been moving around the ship, trying to find different tasks in the hope that he might avoid being found. But there really weren’t that many places he might go. They’d no doubt been busy for most of the day, but he was running out of time. He needed to find the composure to go to them himself. He needed to think of the words to say when he was with them. 

Hiding was both cowardly and unfair. And yet he didn’t move. 

“There you are.” 

Thomas let out a breath and opened his eyes. James was frowning at him in the dim light. 

“Didn’t you hear John was looking for you? Or me?” 

He had the absurd desire to lie. He paused, pushing the words down forcefully that wanted to form on his tongue. “Yes,” he managed after a moment. “But I was busy.” 

James looked at him curiously. “Are you okay? I was worried when-”

“I’m fine,” he said, voice much steadier than it had been all day, but also colder, more dismissive. He wasn’t sure how else to keep his terror from seeping into his words. “I was barely nicked.” 

“Well, John _was_ hurt,” James said. He wasn’t angry. Not yet, but it was simmering under the surface. John was hurt and Thomas hadn’t gone to him. That was unfathomable to James. His way was to linger near-by, not always sure how to offer support, but wanting to give it anyway. He’d had John moved to his quarters after he lost his leg. He’d wanted to be near, as though his presence was enough to heal the wounds. 

“He’s fine,” Thomas said, getting to his feet from where he’d been kneeling. His legs felt strange and cramped. “He said so after the battle was done.” 

James’ frown deepened, clearly confused at Thomas’ strange tone. He sounded cold, he knew he did. But he wasn’t sure how else to contain his emotions. Better angry than weak. That was the way out, wasn’t it? He’d seen James do it often enough, John too. It was part of their armour and it was only fair that Thomas be able to dress himself in it too. 

“He was asking for you,” James repeated. 

“And I was busy,” he repeated back. 

“Not when your captain and quartermaster ask for you, you’re not.” James’ tone was hardening. 

He took a steadying breath. “My apologies,” he conceded, bowing his head, but making no effort to hide the displeasure in his voice. “How can I be of service?” 

“How can you-?” James started, but bit off his own words. “We were _worried_.” 

“Well,” Thomas said, “as you can see, I’m perfectly fine. I’ve just been tending to the ship and other men.” 

“But not John?” James snapped. 

“You are more than capable of cleaning the wound,” Thomas snapped back, the guilt piling on top of his frustration at himself. James was right. He should have been there. It was his role to look after all the men and after James there was no one more important than John to the ship. That should have been his first priority. But it was more than that and they both knew it. Thomas should have _wanted_ to be at John’s side. Should have _wanted_ to offer comfort and aid. What kind of partner didn’t do that? 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” James asked, voicing Thomas’ silent question of himself. And then, in complete, confused annoyance, added: “Are you _angry_ with us?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he lied. Because he was, he realised with a jolt of surprise. He was furious, although he had no idea _why._ He knew it was irrational, but he was angry that they’d let themselves be put in such danger. That they’d done it so often before he was there with them. But more than that, he was angry at the potential they would see him as weak. He was angry that they could see the strength in each other that he so clearly lacked. It wasn’t jealousy. Not in the sense that he thought they would choose each other over him or send him away. He was glad, he thought deep down, that they’d found each other. That they could fulfil the needs they had in this area where Thomas never could. But he was also angry at himself for falling so short and at them for apparently finding it so easy. 

James sighed. “I’m too tired for this,” he said. “Come to bed.” 

“I’m going there now,” Thomas said. 

“John is staying in my quarters,” James said, turning. “The men will expect it now that he’s been injured.”

“Good,” Thomas said, with feeling. The last thing he wanted was to see John. The reminder of what had nearly happened was too much. He needed more time to process it, to get his emotions under control. 

“You’re not coming,” James said. It wasn't phrased as a question but there was clear surprise in his words. 

“I need to sleep,” he answered, wishing it sounded true. 

James shook his head. Defeated for a moment in his anger and frustration. “Have it your way.” 

He nodded and brushed by James as he walked away. His body nearly swayed into him, wanting suddenly, the touch of his hands. But he couldn’t. He would fall apart. “Good night.”

**** 

James slept fitfully. He expected Thomas to come to them at any moment and the longer he failed to appear the more James’ anxiety grew. John slept, the bunk really not big enough for them both, but his own exhaustion apparently keeping him asleep even in the absence of Thomas. 

They’d never slept alone before. It was nice, in a way, to have John so close. James' heart had stopped for a moment when he’d seen that giant of a man bearing down on him. If he hadn’t been so fast, he was sure that John would not be here now, lying peacefully in his arms. Thomas must have seen it, he was so close to him, and yet he wasn’t with them. John had been disappointed when James had returned alone. He hadn’t had the heart to mention Thomas’ strange mood, instead lying and saying that he was already asleep. 

John hadn’t questioned him, but had made to leave before James stopped him and asked him to stay. John had looked at him, clearly surprised and a little unsure. Perhaps he’d thought James wouldn’t want him there without Thomas. There were no rules, nothing that meant that if Thomas chose to be apart from them they should do the same with each other. And James didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to be without Thomas either, but he wouldn’t force him to be with them, but neither was he about to send John away. Not when he’d come so close to losing him. 

He dropped a kiss on his head as John began to stir, tightening his arms around him for a moment. They’d done nothing but fall asleep the night before. They would likely have no time for anything more before they had to get up for the day, and anyway it felt strange with Thomas’ mood so odd the night before. But that didn’t mean the desire wasn’t there. How could it not be, with John so close? He pulled him tight, resisting the urge to push against him as John shifted, burying his head in his chest. He needed to get up, but allowed himself a few moments longer to enjoy the closeness. 

He was already out of the bunk before John finally stirred, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. James looked at him, smiling a little to himself before returning to getting dressed. 

“He didn’t come?” John asked, looking around. 

James sighed. “He’ll be along soon,” he said, trying to sound confident. 

“Is he alright?” John swung his leg over the bunk, shifting forward so he could stand. James resisted the urge to offer help. 

“I’m sure he will be.” 

There was a long pause before John spoke again, voice soft. “It was his first real battle.” 

James nodded, looking down at his shirt as he buttoned it so he didn’t have to look at John. “He did well.” 

“Better than I did,” John said, a little self-deprecating smile forming. 

“I wouldn't go that far,” James said, quite honestly. John was an asset in a battle, Thomas was… He’d improved much but James would rather he was anywhere else. “Although,” he said, “I think it might be time we have some proper training together.”

John raised his eyebrows at that. “You want to teach me how to fight?” 

It wasn’t really a question, but James shrugged. “I know you know how to fight, I want to teach you how not to die. It was too close yesterday, it would benefit us all, me not least, if you weren’t killed by the next fool lucky enough to swing a sword your way.” 

“In my defence,” John protested, “the man yesterday was bigger than Billy and there were two of them.” But James knew he’d already won the argument. If John didn’t want to do something he told you plain. “You think it would help?” 

“I do,” he said. Then smiled. “You might even be quite good by the end.” 

John smiled at him, warm and still half asleep. Beautiful. “Better than you?” 

James raised an eyebrow and John laughed, just as he’d intended. 

They were silent for a few moments before John spoke again. “Should I speak to him?” he asked. He was pulling on his leg, grimacing only a little. 

“He didn’t want to talk to me.” The memory still stung, a little. But James was determined to let Thomas be for now. He knew where they were. He most likely had things he needed to think through, and if he chose to do it alone, he could respect that. It pained him, both for his own but especially for John’s sake, but that didn’t give him the right to push too soon. 

“Well, you don’t have my winning personality,” John said, clearly trying to sound light and unbothered. Perhaps before, when he’d been determined to see only what John wanted others to see, he might have even believed that he truly didn't care that Thomas wasn't with them. But not now. For anyone that chose to really look, it was clear that he was affected deeply. He was worried and preemptively hurt at the idea that Thomas might not want to speak with him. 

He’d been quiet and reflective when he’d returned without Thomas the night before, first shrugging it off but then immediately suggesting they sleep, as though not wanting to continue with the day if Thomas weren’t there. James had understood that, at least, and had left him to his thoughts. 

“I’m sure he will appreciate seeing you are well,” James said, hoping his tone sounded even and unconcerned. 

“You don’t think-” John started, pulling on his shirt and wincing as he lifted his arm to do it. He stopped speaking abruptly, clearly trying to find the right words but then seemed to give up entirely. 

“That he’s reconsidering wanting this life?” James hadn’t wanted to voice the thought that he knew they’d both had. John looked at him, as though surprised James understood his worries. He lifted a corner of his mouth, not a smile but something like an approximation of one. “No,” he said. “I think he’s just not seen death so close before.” 

John blinked at him. “But after everything he’s seen-”

“It’s not the same,” he said. “He’s never lifted a sword to hurt someone like that. It’s going to take time to adjust.” 

“And if he doesn’t?” 

“He will,” James said. It wasn’t an option.

John didn’t say anything else, dressing quietly, but there was a tension in the room now. He could feel it coming off John, making his own shoulders tense. He didn’t believe that this would truly alter anything between the three of them, but he knew John wasn’t so sure. He didn’t know Thomas as well as James did, he supposed, so it made sense. 

“I left,” John said, “after I realised what I was capable of.” 

James turned to face him, but John wasn’t looking at him. “As both you and Thomas kept pointing out, you also came back.” He reached for him, suddenly unable to bear the distance between them, and pulled him closer. John was stiff and awkward in his arms, but James didn’t let go until he relaxed, sinking into the embrace. “Perhaps you should find Thomas and let him know that you’ll now also have lessons with me to look forward to when we’re back in Nassau. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to know his torment is shared.” 

John huffed, pulling back. He looked uncertain but agreed anyway and they left to go about their days soon after.

Thomas didn’t approach James for the rest of the day. He tried to ignore the pull he could feel to the other man, but it was like an itch that he couldn’t ignore. Twice he walked the ship just to catch a glimpse of him. He looked tired, his shoulders hunched, but he was working alongside the other men without any complaint. 

John caught his eye on his second circuit, shaking his head a little. So it wasn’t just him Thomas was avoiding. He wondered over and over what he ought to do. He still believed that keeping his distance was the best course, but that could only go on for so long. Eventually one of them would have to break. John’s words played on his mind, sparking a strange feeling in his chest. He pushed it down but action was starting to seem like the best option. 

He left Thomas for another few hours before he went to him. He found him below deck, working diligently on some repairs. He paused, not quite down the stairs, to watch him for a moment. He was graceful and precise in his movements, focused totally on his work. It made James’ heart swell in his chest to see the care and devotion he put to even the smallest of tasks. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice you there?” Thomas asked, suddenly, not looking up. 

“I thought you were too focused,” James admitted, taking the last couple of steps to join him. They were alone, it seemed, and perhaps that was why Thomas had chosen to do this particular task. “I was concerned you might have forgotten where I was.” 

Thomas stilled for a moment before continuing with what he was doing. “It’s been less than a day,” he said, voice artificially light. “I’m not that much older than you that I'm liable to memory lapses of that magnitude.” 

James smiled. “He jokes.” 

There was a long sigh before Thomas stopped and finally looked at him. “I needed space.” 

“I gave it.” 

“Less than a day,” Thomas said. 

“It’s a small ship,” James countered, moving closer. Thomas let him. “John’s worried.” 

“John?” he asked, surprise and something that might have been doubt in his voice. 

“Yes,” he said. “He thinks you might take a leaf out of his book and run.” 

Thomas shook his head. “I am not so fickle as that.” 

“I know,” James said, because he did and he wanted Thomas to know it. 

“I wouldn’t leave you,” Thomas said, redundantly. 

“I know,” he repeated. 

There was a longer pause. “It was different than I thought it would be,” he said, voice small. “Worse. And easier.” 

James nodded. “I’m sorry you had to see it at all,” he said. “If it were up to me-”

Thomas waved a hand at him. “I’m brooding,” he said, shaking his head. “I know it. I saw things yesterday that I hadn’t before. Not just the violence and death,” he looked up at James, eyes serious, “but you and John, too.” 

“I’m sorry for that too,” he said. “If it helps, he hates it almost as much as you.” 

He shook his head. “I don’t-” He stopped, apparently unable to formulate the words.

“You see us differently because we are capable of things you didn’t believe us capable of. Knowing it and seeing it are different, I understand that.” He did. There was no way for Thomas to stay and keep James in the high regard he had before. This was always going to come, he’d been braced for it. He believed Thomas when he said he wasn’t leaving, but that didn’t mean it could be the same. The scales had fallen from his eyes and he would see James in clarity for the first time. He had little doubt it was not a flattering image. 

Then, to his great surprise, Thomas laughed. It was a disbelieving sound, almost mocking. He looked at him in surprise. “Oh James,” he said. “You are always so eager to assume that people will see the worst in you.” He smiled again. “I know this might come as a great shock, given your life for the last decade, but not everything that happens is actually about you directly.” 

He frowned but wasn’t sure how to ask a question that didn’t make him sound even more ridiculous than he apparently did already. 

“I was embarrassed,” Thomas said. “By my naivety, and then by my reaction afterwards. It was… hard, to be in battle. I saw how brave you and John were, how naturally it came to you and I felt it left me rather wanting.”

James opened his mouth but Thomas waved him silent. 

“I need no platitudes,” he said. “I will learn to be better when the next fight comes. I will learn how not to be so adversely affected by them.” Finally, he smiled, private and pleased. “You worked well together.” 

James wanted to say something, address Thomas’ concerns, but instead he held his tongue. It would do no good to patronise him. What he was saying was true. Thomas was not a natural fighter, he hadn’t put up a bad show, but he’d been lucky and well protected by much better fighters. He and John had made sure of it. So instead he only acknowledged his last remark by smiling. “Yes,” he agreed. “We make a good partnership.” 

“Is he very upset with me?” Thomas asked, looking back at his hands, now idly turning the tool he was holding over and over. 

“No,” James said. “He’s upset and pretending not to be hurt.” 

Thomas sighed. “I should have gone to him last night when he was hurt. It was selfish of me to hide away.” 

“It was,” James agreed, no longer angry, but not willing to placate him either. 

“I will try and make it up to him.” 

“Just him?” James asked, allowing a note of teasing into his voice. 

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Very well,” he agreed. “Both of you, however you wish.”

“Really?” James asked, leaning in close. “Do I have your word?” 

“Hush,” Thomas said, pushing his arm gently. He looked happier, still embarrassed, but more like himself. James relaxed. “Not now, not when we’re still days away from Nassau and I can do nothing about it.” 

James watched him, wanting to reassure himself that he was really there, that he wasn’t trying to give false reassurance. Thomas met his eyes, held them steadily. James grinned. “Very well,” he agreed, stepping back. “I shall ask John to be in my quarters in an hour. See that you’re there too.” 

Thomas nodded. “I’ll make amends as best I can before we reach land.” 

“See that you do,” James said. “I’ll expect a full report once you’re done.” 

“Aye, Captain.” 

He smiled as he turned to leave, feeling lighter. Perhaps the day might turn out better than he’d feared upon waking. 

***

The journey back to Nassau was swift, at least. John was ordered to James’ cabin only to find a contrite Thomas waiting for him. They spoke and to John’s surprise Thomas was back to his old self almost entirely. The cold facade was gone and the affectionate and animated man he’d come to care so much for was back. He chose not to question it. Thomas no doubt had his reasons and John left him to them. He was happy to take the good when it came and not seek out the bad when it could just as easily be avoided. He put it, and the slightly foreboding feeling it gave him, to the back of his mind. 

Nassau was as welcoming and difficult as ever. But John couldn’t have been more pleased to be there. The ship simply didn’t afford any privacy. The three of them had barely touched each other - outside of the night James had let him sleep in his bunk - since they set sail. John was ready to climb out of his skin with want. They agreed to meet in James’ room in the inn after dark. There was work to be done and some semblance of property to maintain before that.

John brought three bottles of wine with him. Thomas brought food. James welcomed them both with a kiss and smile. John had never, in his entire life, felt happier than he did that night sitting near the fire in James’ room with them both. The evening was spent mostly at the fireside, talking and drinking. The mood was light and easy, as it so often was when it was the three of them. 

Thomas stumbled to his feet, late into the night, looking red-cheeked and loose with alcohol. John watched him half fall out of the room to relieve himself. John's eyes tracked his movements, wondering if the three of them might be too drunk already to manage anything other than falling asleep the moment they reached a bed. He watched Thomas out of sight and decided he didn't care how drunk they all were, he was getting him and James out of their clothes at the very least, even if it killed him. 

“Enjoying the view?” James asked, startling John out of his imaginings of what he might do once he finally allowed himself to touch. James was grinning at him when John turned his eyes to him, pleased with his joke. 

“I was thinking about getting him out of those bloody clothes,” he said, truthful. 

“I’ve had similar thoughts tonight,” James agreed, easy and apparently pleased. 

“It’s a pleasing image,” he said, casual. Then, realising they were alone, he leant forward, eager to voice a question he’d had for weeks but had never had a moment where the chance to ask arose. “What did you think,” he asked, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “when you first saw him…” He waved his hand. 

“You mean when we first met?” he asked, brow furrowed. “I’ve told you that. I thought him quite pompous and self-important.” 

“Well,” John nodded, ready to agree with the sentiment, before he remembered himself and shook his head instead. “No, I mean, when you first… When he first got it out. Were you as surprised as I was?” 

James’ eyebrows arched high. “Surprised?”

John laughed at the slightly haughty tone of the question. He was never sure if James was teasing or genuinely more prudish than his life gave him any right to be. “I just hadn’t expected…” He gestured vaguely, and James’ eyes tracked his hand in the firelight, “all of that.”

James grinned wolfishly at him, understanding lighting his eyes. “It’s certainly…” 

“Quite the mouthful?” 

James was still laughing when Thomas reappeared in the room and plonked back down in his seat. “Do I want to know?” 

“Probably not,” James said, laughter still making his voice warm. “John here was just complimenting your physical attributes.” 

Thomas raised both his eyebrows in John’s direction. “Was he, now? Should I be flattered or merely content with his findings?” 

“Happy,” James said, gently placing a hand over Thomas's head so he could bring his forehead to his lips and place a gentle kiss there. “But really, he only spoke the truth of the matter.” 

John snorted a laugh into his glass, spilling it as he took a sip. Thomas narrowed his eyes at him, but let James pull him close. Theirs was an easy affection. John envied them, a little for it; he didn’t know how to express love in such an open and easy manner. He was too used to guarding his emotions to truly let go, even when he trusted someone. 

James looked over at him as though he’d suddenly remembered something. He grinned at him. “John here had a plan,” he said. 

“Oh?” Thomas asked, looking between them. “Am I going to like it?” 

“Do you know,” James said, around a laugh. “I think you will.” 

John stumbled to his feet, spurred into action by the mood and good cheer of the evening. He’d been more than patient, but he didn’t want to wait any more and since James had brought it up, he thought he might as well take advantage of it. It seemed like weeks since he’d been able to touch either of them in the way he wanted to. He’d had far too many nights alone in his hammock considering what he might do when they had access to both a bed and some level of privacy. 

He reached out and pulled James up to his feet, swaying into his space, and then stopped abruptly. He’d forgotten, somehow, what it was like to be so close to him, the way his body reacted to his proximity. It had always been like that, he realised, the way his heart ticked up and his skin prickled. He hadn’t realised what it meant, before, not until it was too late. He wondered how much he’d missed, how long James had been looking at him with such fondness, with such _desire_. They stared at each other without moving for long moments, still a little unsure around one another. They hadn’t quite reached the easy level of intimacy of James and Thomas. But that didn’t mean the desire wasn’t there. He saw that now, felt almost as drunk on that as he did the alcohol. _God_ he loved him. 

John swayed forward, waiting for James to make the move. It felt like an eternity but was probably only seconds before James took pity on him and bent down to kiss him. His body reacted immediately, all the tension draining from him as pressed into James’ arms, pulling him close. James was smiling, pleased looking, when he pulled back. 

“Didn’t you have a plan, Quartermaster?” he asked, nodding at Thomas. 

John rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop the answering smile. “Aye, Captain.” 

Thomas was laughing, as John pulled him into a kiss. John took the opportunity of them being so close to tug at his clothes wanting to get feel bear skin under his hands. Thankfully Thomas had removed some of his layers already and it was a simple matter of pulling up his shirt before John could run his hands over the broad expanse of his chest and back. He felt good; his hands roamed, unable to quite decide where he most wanted to touch. 

Clothes were discarded, Thomas apparently not wanting to let John remain clothed while he lost all of his own. They made their way in the general direction of the bed as they undressed, not separating from their kisses longer than was entirely necessarily to shed clothes. John was pulling Thomas onto the bed when he looked over to where James was standing at the fireplace, eyes trained on them. He was still fully clothed, like he hadn’t moved since Thomas and John had started to kiss. 

John swallowed heavily, the look on James’ face making his cock swell. Thomas paused, from where he was kissing a path down John’s chest to follow his line of sight. “He’s wondering if he’s going to get to watch,” he whispered, mouth ghosting along John’s neck.

John shivered. “Is that-” he started and had to stop when Thomas’ hands started running down his thigh and up to brush, lightly, over his cock. “Is that so?” 

Thomas hummed, arms bracketed either side of John's head as he smiled down at him. “Do you know, I think he’s been thinking about it.” He nipped John’s collarbone and then raised his voice. “Isn’t that right, James?” 

“What?” James said, starting like he’d been very far away for a moment. 

“You’ve been thinking about watching us.” 

John watched, eyes wanting to flutter closed at the feeling of Thomas pressing down into him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off James. He was prepared for a snort of laughter, or a roll of his eyes. Not the sharp look, not for the way his eyes roamed over them. John had never been an exhibitionist. He didn’t want people looking at him unless it was for a very specific purpose of his own design. But suddenly, with the way James’s eyes made him feel, he understood it. 

“Yes,” James said, and at last he was walking towards the bed. “You make a very pleasant sight.” 

Thomas smirked at John. “He’s been thinking about it ever since we started our little fiction,” he said, conspiratorially. “I rather think he likes the idea of it.” 

“That makes two of us,” John said, smiling and kissing Thomas. It was strange, to be doing it not just to feel good, but knowing that it was also something James apparently wanted. It made the whole experience much more heighted. He arched up, rubbing himself against Thomas and let himself moan in pleasure. 

“Oh,” Thomas said, pleased and little breathless now, “you like him watching.” 

“And you don’t?” John asked, reaching around so he could grip Thomas’ hips and pull them together again. 

It was Thomas’ turn to groan, burying his face into John’s neck as he ground down into him. “I missed you,” he muttered. “That fucking ship has not nearly enough - _oh_ \- privacy.”

John panted around a breathless laugh. “And beds.” 

“Yes,” Thomas agreed. “Beds are distinctly lacking.” 

“I should have known neither of you would be able keep quiet even in the midst of getting each other off.” James was much closer than the last time John had looked at him. He was now next to the bed, even in the dim light of the room John could tell that his face was flushed. 

He smiled. Arching again which made Thomas’ breath hitch. He and James held eye contact as John repeated the roll of his hips and this time James swallowed and licked his lips. 

“Has he given in and started touching himself yet?” Thomas asked, in between dropping kisses on John’s shoulder and neck. 

The idea of it made John’s cock jump, his eyes travelling down James' body. He could see how hard he was; the outline of it was clear through his trousers. “Not yet,” he managed, voice rough and hitching. 

“Would you like him to?” Thomas asked, grinding down, and John’s eyes closed around the pleasure of it. 

“Yes,” he grunted. “ _Fuck_ that feels so good.”

Thomas lifted his head, face flushed and eyes bright. He looked beautiful. John could scarcely believe this was really happening. Thomas turned his head to look at James. “Well?” he said, haughty and commanding. “You heard the man.” 

James laughed, but started to unbutton his shirt. “As you wish.” 

John’s eyes flew open, wanting to see. His hips were doing little hitches, unable to stop moving, needing to feel the pressure. James was undressing, perhaps hoping to look unhurried, but there was a definite shake to his fingers as he worked the buttons loose. John watched, enraptured, as the clothes fell away. 

“Was this part of your grand plan?” Thomas asked, apparently satisfied that James was doing as he was told. 

John wrenched his eyes away from James with great effort and back to Thomas. “My plan ended at you naked and in this bed.” 

“Oh,” Thomas frowned. “I’m disappointed in the lack of imagination, Quartermaster.” 

“What?” John asked, pushing up into him. “You’re not enjoying yourself?” 

Thomas smiled, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Immensely. But, where’s the ambition? Surely you’ve had some time to consider what you might want.” 

“I was busy,” he lied. He’d done little else but think about it. But that didn’t mean he had any concrete ideas. And the way Thomas kept rolling his hips wasn’t making it any easier to think. “This is good.” 

“Oil James,” Thomas said, bracing his arms on either side of John’s head and smiling down at him. “It is,” he said to John. “But we can do better.” 

The bed dipped as James joined them on the mattress, now holding the small bottle that John had thought about almost constantly since he’d first seen it. James poured some into his own hand before handing it to Thomas. John watched, aware at how wide his eyes probably were, as James reached down and stroked his cock, slowly. His eyes were fixed on John and Thomas, hungry and appreciative. 

John’s whole body felt like it was on fire. Thomas was fiddling with the bottle but John was hardly paying any attention; he couldn’t take his eyes off James. His eyes couldn’t decide if they wanted to watch his hand or face. He looked incredible. It should have been comical. If he’d taken a moment to imagine it, before it was actually happening right in front of him, he would have thought it would be silly. But it was making heat coil everywhere at once and his balls tighten, like he was going to come.

He gasped, arching up when Thomas snaked a slick hand between them to wrap it around him. He had to close his eyes and when he opened them, James’ hand was moving faster. John’s toes curled. “I want to see it,” he managed to grit out, the alcohol and heady feeling of Thomas sliding against him, making him reckless. “I want to see you together.” 

Thomas grinned. “You want to watch us?” 

“James looks like he’s having such a good time,” John tried to joke, but it was more than that. It was what he’d been thinking about and since this whole thing had started. And he was suddenly a lot less embarrassed about wanting it. “I want to know what it’s like to get fucked by one of you. I want you to show me.” 

“James?” Thomas asked, turning to look at him, grinning. “How about that? Do you want to show John what it’s like?”

James looked a little startled and John held his breath, waiting for his response. He looked at them both, and raised an eyebrow, slow, like he was considering it. “As the quartermaster wishes.” 

Thomas leaned over to kiss him in response, slow, like they had all the time in the world. John was too close to be able to see it clearly, but it still made him want to wriggle in place, impatient, now he’d asked. Thankfully Thomas soon pulled back and shifted, moving off John to climb between James’ legs. He splayed them, making room for Thomas immediately as he lowered himself onto the bed so they were lying next to John. They continued to kiss, slow, but no less passionate than anything that had gone before. They looked at each other when they pulled back and John was quite sure there was a silent communication happening between them. James nodded, grinning, a little pleased, and Thomas smiled back, pressing his forehead to James’. He reached back to pick up the bottle that was lying discarded at John’s side. 

John realised abruptly that somehow they’d agreed what was about to happen, there had been no lengthy discussion, but yet some negotiation had to have happened. It left John feeling confused, surprised, somehow. The intimacy of it made him ache, even through the hundred other questions that were bubbling up to his tongue. 

“You take it in turns?” he asked in the end, unable to keep them all in. 

James looked at him. “There’s not a schedule we’re keeping, if that’s what you mean.” 

Thomas laughed, dropping his head down. “Don’t tease him, James, it’s a fair question.” He looked over at John, fond and open. “I like it both ways,” he said, easy and not in the least embarrassed. “Although some people find a preference.” 

John could only nod, although he had many, many more questions. 

“There’s time for everything,” James said, again. This time gentler and more serious. 

“There’s more preparation than with a woman,” Thomas said, like he was teaching a class. 

John wanted to make a joke, ask him how much he knew of it, but the words wouldn’t come. His mouth was dry, his breathing shallow and coming fast. He watched, captivated, as Thomas opened the bottle, pouring some on his hand and coating his fingers. Then he was reaching forward, pushing between James’ legs gently, but with obvious devotion to the task. 

John had been at sea a long time. The mechanics of two men fucking were not, actually, all that foreign to him, even if he’d never done it personally. But it was a very different thing, to know it, than to see it. 

“Does it feel different? Than with a woman?” 

“Yes,” James said, turning his head to look at him. There was a frown between his eyes, his breathing was hitching. John couldn’t concentrate on anything but the knowledge of what was happening between his legs. He couldn’t see it, but Thomas’ hand movements were leaving little to the imagination. His cock ached, hard and heavy between his legs. He reached down to palm it, not quite stroking, but needing to take the edge off. James’ eyes tracked the movement, his mouth quirking. “And no. It’s tighter, more intense. But-” he was cut off by a hitched breath as Thomas moved, doing something with his fingers that John couldn’t see. He watched, enraptured, as James' face contorted, some line between pleasure and pain clearly being crossed. 

John wondered how much it hurt; Thomas’ hands weren’t small. He couldn’t imagine how it would feel to those long, clever fingers inside of him. Not that it was the pain that bothered him, John was more than used to that. It was the intimacy of it that he couldn’t seem to fathom. The blending of power and pleasure that left him feeling strange, vulnerable and exposed at just considering it. He watched James, trying to discern any sense that it bothered him in the same way. 

He was starting to fidget under Thomas, John thought for a moment it was from discomfort, but no, he released with a jolt that it was quite the opposite; he was pushing back against Thomas’ fingers, little shallow thrusts, like he couldn’t get enough of the sensation. John moved closer, unable to take his eyes off James’ face. His eyes were closed, like he was lost in the feeling. John gripped his own cock harder, pushing into his own hand insistently. 

“Ready?” Thomas asked, pulling back.

James arched up, like he missed the feeling of Thomas’ fingers inside him. 

John licked his lips, he couldn’t keep still, he was edging closer to them on the bed, so that he was nearly pressed right against them. 

“You can touch,” Thomas said, smiling at him. His hair was starting to stick to his forehead with sweat, but he still managed to look in control, poised even. 

John's hand was already reaching out, running down James’ arm, before Thomas had finished speaking. Their fingers entwined for a moment and James tugged him, pulling him in. “Kiss me,” he said, breath short. 

John did as he was bade, just as Thomas shifted, moving a pillow under James’ hips and pushing forward. John could feel the tension in James’ body as they came together; there was a moment where everything seemed to stop as Thomas pushed inside him. John pulled back and turned to look at Thomas. His face was smooth with pleasure, flushed with the exertion, but clearly blissed at the sensation. 

John couldn’t see where they were joined, he wanted to, though, and he shifted in place, craning his neck. It was no good, the angle was wrong. He could hear it, though, as Thomas began to move his hips and the sound made it feel like he could see more than he could. His toes curled, heat spreading out from his hand as it worked over his cock, matching the rhythm of Thomas’ thrusts. 

“It feels so good, John,” Thomas panted, catching his gaze for a moment. “God, I wish you could feel this. How he feels.” 

“Yes,” John agreed, his hand moving faster now, as the feeling built in his stomach, tightening and intensifying. “God.” 

"John,” Thomas said, voice catching. “Come here, I want-”

John had to struggle to get into a sitting position. But he managed, moving to Thomas and craning his neck so he could give him the kiss he was straining for. It was sloppy, uncoordinated as they both moved, John not wanting to stop touching himself and Thomas moving in and out of James. 

When they pulled back James was making little noises, whimpers of pleasure as he rocked back into Thomas’ thrusts. Thomas groaned, leaning forward, to take James’ cock in his hand, still slick with oil. 

“Help me,” he breathed, nodding at his hand. 

John reached out his free hand, wrapping it around Thomas’. It wasn’t really coordinated, but that didn’t seem to matter because James arched off the bed the moment it happened. John realised he was about to come, and the thought of it, that it was in reaction to his touch, was too much. 

“Oh _God_ ,” he moaned and he was coming, desperately pumping into his own hand. 

James and Thomas seemed to follow him moments after. Thomas slumped forward, and the air was filled with the sounds of their harsh breathing. 

“Well,” John managed, but didn’t have any other words. 

Thomas laughed, light and pleased. “Quite right.” 

“Please, shut up,” James said, but he sounded too fond for it to make John do anything but smile and place a kiss on the nearest bit of skin to him.

They tangled in a heap until their breathing slowly evened out.

“We have to sleep," James said softly. "It’s nearly dawn.” 

John sighed. He ought to go to his own room. His body protested dully as he struggled to sit up. 

“Oh, no,” Thomas said, reaching for him. “You’re staying here.” 

“I can’t,” John said, looking at him, his mouth pressing down into a regretful line. Thomas was tangled with James, their limbs overlapping as James rubbed little circles along the bear skin of his back. John felt the now familiar ache of seeing them together. He wanted to lie back down. He wanted for it to be his right. “You know no one can see me here.” 

Thomas sighed heavily. “Yes.” He sat up, pulling James’ hand to his lips. “You're right, we had better go.” 

John started, surprised and confused for a moment before he remembered the entire point of the story he and Thomas had been spinning. It felt strange, as they gathered their clothes, James watching them sleepily from the bed. It was the right thing to do. He knew that, but he couldn’t help the anger at having to do it.

They traded kisses once they were dressed, none of them apparently eager to be alone. He and Thomas walked to Thomas' door, pausing there as John fought the urge to reach out and touch him. He looked around, they were alone, but it probably didn’t matter that much either way. He rocked up onto his toes, kissing him. 

“We’ll find somewhere,” Thomas murmured, against his lips, “where we can stay together for the entire night, where we can wake up together.” 

They’d find nowhere in this war that would let that happen. There was nowhere safe enough. But he smiled anyway, the image too pleasant to dwell on the practicalities of it. “With a bigger bed. Your hulking frame takes up all the space otherwise.” 

Thomas smiled, sleepy and fond. “I’m glad you’re here, John,” he said. “I’m glad you’re staying and I get to have you like this.” 

It was an oddly sweet thing to say. People didn’t say things like that to John, not in his experience. Not so easily, with no ulterior motive. It made him shift in place, wondering what it was that Thomas wanted from him, and then immediately feel guilty for the thought. “Thank _you_ for the show,” he said, low, and kissed him again. 

“Good night, John,” he said, grinning and pleased, as he slipped through his door. 

John watched the wood of the closed door for a moment, feeling sad, almost melancholy, for reasons he couldn’t articulate. He stared at the door, wanting to knock on it. Wanting to go back to James’ room. Surely they shouldn’t all be sleeping alone. It wasn’t fair. It was that feeling, familiar and heavy, that snapped him out of it. He was well used to nothing being fair, and brooding on that fact did nothing but make him miserable. 

He went to bed.

_TBC_


	9. Chapter 9

John had always liked Billy Bones. Most of the men on Nassau did. He was a good man. He was dedicated to his men and he was a hard worker. So when Billy asked to meet with him, there was really no reason to refuse him. Even though he’d known what it was going to be about. It was the same conversation they’d been having since almost the day they’d met. 

Billy hated Captain Flint no less than he had when John had first left Nassau. That was clear from the moment he started talking after the most rudimentary of pleasantries. His distaste for James had, for most of their acquaintance, served John’s purposes well. So it seemed unfair that he should hold it against Billy now. But it was difficult to see the hard look in Billy’s eyes when he talked of James, hear how little regard he held him in, and to not react. 

“We cannot give him free reign over this island,” Billy said, catching John’s eye, holding it with a passion that would not have been out of place in James’ eyes. “He’s too dangerous.” 

“He’s trying to _free_ the island, Billy,” John said, tired suddenly, of the whole thing. How many times must he go through these conversations before something changed?

“You trust him?” Billy looked confused, almost betrayed. 

“He has my full support,” John hedged. He hadn’t considered that question in a long time. Did he trust James? It was hard to forget his conviction when he’d told Billy that he would never believe in Flint like the others had, that he would never buy into his mania. But that was before he’d met Thomas, before he’d really understood, before he’d had any stake in the world they wanted to build. 

“That’s not what I asked.” Billy had really grown up. He’d been in charge of the men remaining on Nassau for months; it changed a man, that sort of power. Often not for the better. But it had certainly made Billy more perceptive. 

“What is it that you asked me here for, Billy?” John asked, irritated at being called out for his lack of an answer to the question. He loved James. He understood and respected both Thomas and James’ reasons for their vendetta against England. It was hard not to agree that if they could achieve their ambitions it would be better for the island. So he was with them in their plans. He didn’t want to examine it more closely than that. Surely nothing good would come of it; being alone with Billy and having this conversation made him feel uncomfortable. It felt like a betrayal, despite the fact he’d done nothing, not even _said_ anything _,_ that could be seen that way. 

“I asked you here because we need to plan,” Billy said. “We need to have a way to remove Flint _when_ he starts to be a bigger danger than he is an asset.” 

John’s blood ran cold. “And who gets to decide that?” he asked, voice hard as he took a step closer to Billy. He was a head shorter than him, but that didn’t mean that he was going to be intimidated. “Hmmm? Who will decide when this man - who has led us to things no one would have believed possible before he dreamt it - has become superfluous to our needs?”

Billy held his ground. “I’m not after any crowns,” he said, his conviction in his own rightness absolute. “I’m thinking of saving lives. You know as well as I do that Flint doesn’t care who dies as long as he gets what he wants.”

John opened his mouth to tell Billy he was wrong, but the words got stuck somewhere in his chest. He swallowed. “I’m going to leave here,” he said, instead. “And I will forget we ever had this conversation.” Billy’s jaw flexed in clear annoyance. “I am doing this as a friend, you understand. I like you, Billy. I value your friendship. But I will not talk of betraying Flint when he is working for all of our interests.”

“You know that he doesn’t care about you,” Billy said. “Not more than he cares about winning. He loved Gates too. As much as he’s even capable of it. He’s numbed to everything but winning. You must see that and if you don't, you’ll be dead and so will Thomas.” 

John gave him a hard, sharp, look. “Be very careful, now, Billy.” 

“I didn’t think you’re really trying to hide it,” Billy said, his anger slipping for a moment. “I like Smith. He seems like a decent man. Too decent for whatever Flint’s dragging us into.” 

“You don’t know anything about him.” 

“I know that he doesn’t understand what he’s getting into. He can’t; he’s not really seen it, what this war would mean,” he said, steady and measured. John didn’t say anything. Nothing he thought of would sound convincing. Billy sighed heavily in frustration. “He’s been taken in by him, John, you know how this works. People believe in him and then they die. If you care about him you’ll stop this before he’s dead.” 

There was no way to explain to Billy that it was James that had been taken in by Thomas, a decade ago. Although, maybe that wasn’t even true any more. It was impossible to know, now, who was driving the other on. Or if neither of them were truly in charge anymore, if they'd lost control to a vision that had grown so massively it now had a life of its own. “I told you to be careful,” John said, softly. He didn’t have to work hard to sound angry. The terror that Billy had somehow managed to conjure was easily harnessed into a more acceptable emotion. “I do not want you talking of Thomas, I do not want you talking about these things again. You have agreed to be with us, Billy. You are our friend and ally. Please don’t make me reconsider that. I do not think you will like the outcome.” 

Billy held his eye for another long moment. “You were going to leave,” he said. “But you didn’t. I think it’s because you couldn’t leave Smith behind - whatever feeling you have for him is holding you here.” 

John didn’t react. He couldn’t. Billy wasn’t right, or not entirely. He had no idea that it was James that kept him tied to the island as much at Thomas. But the distinction didn’t undermine his point as much as John would have liked it to. 

“If you care for him at all,” Billy continued, clearly picking his words carefully, “then you’ll take what I’m saying seriously.” 

John shook his head, hoping he seemed dismissive and that the way his heart was starting to thud wasn’t obvious. “I have to get back,” he said. “I will not have this conversation again, Billy, please do not try.” 

****

Thomas' life since being reunited with James was different to anything he’d ever have been able to dream of before it was actually happening. It had been overwhelming and far more difficult than he would have wanted to believe. But somehow through all of that he had managed to carve out genuine happiness. The grief of everything he'd lost would never leave, he knew that, it was like a constant ache. But, when he thought of what he, James and John were building, he sometimes felt almost delirious with joy. Perhaps it was because of the loss that he was now able to fully appreciate what he had. It was so much more than he'd dared dream of for a decade that it felt like it might be pouring out him for anyone to see, but he wasn’t sure how to contain the feelings. He’d never been much good at that; Miranda had scolded him for not being better at concealing what he felt, however inconvenient it may be. But any talent that she’d managed to install in him had been washed away in the intensity of what he was feeling now. 

Perhaps it was just that it had been so long since he’d had the opportunity to feel anything good at all that he was now unsure what to do with it. It had been five long years at Bethlem where he had had to learn to not occupy his own body lest he truly go mad, which were followed by another five of being lectured about his immorality and worked harder than he’d known was possible. Meeting John and being on the road with him had been the first time he’d felt alive in a decade. Then James had come back to him, like an angel come to earth to save him. To save the parts of him that he thought were dead. 

In truth, he was still discovering parts of himself that had been asleep for so long he’d forgotten they existed. He was only finding them as they slowly creaked back to life at unexpected moments, and sometimes the realisation of just how long it had been since he’d had occasion to feel them hurt. The first time that he realised that he truly wanted a future, wanted to wake up the next day rather than not caring one way or another, he’d nearly cried. 

But he was also finding aspects of himself didn’t seem to work in the way they once had. His mind drifted, even when he was reading something he was interested in or trying to complete a task he knew was important. He flinched away from the strangest of sounds. He found talking to people, especially in groups, so much harder than he once had. These were scars, not visible but no less likely to fade for that. He was trying to learn to live with them. 

James and John were making it easier. His life now was not one he would have wished for. He’d give up almost anything for Miranda to be alive, but he was seeing that he might be truly happy, truly content, with his life. He wanted to take hold of it and grip tight lest it fade away. Nassau was not a stable place to build a life, he knew, and it made him anxious in an undefinable way. But he was slowly carving out a role for himself there. He was still good with people, could still read them well, and he had a great deal of patience. The last meant James and John had been happy to turn certain details of the ship’s running over to him. These details would be much improved if he had good relationships with the most vital people to the running of Nassau. 

There were none more important than Max. He’d not had the chance to truly get to know her and needed to rectify that so took the earliest opportunity once they'd returned to Nassau ask for a meeting. She had seemed happy enough to accommodate him at least; perhaps his standing on _The Walrus_ was more widely known than he’d thought. 

“Mr Smith,” she said, with a tight smile, when he arrived at her office. 

He wondered, watching the way she perched further forward on her chair than seemed comfortable, how many meetings she had daily where people came to complain, threaten or bully. Not that he imagined for a moment those tactics did them much good. But still, it must be lonely, sitting in this room receiving pirate after pirate, all looking for something from her. He did not envy her position, no matter the standing it gave her. 

“Max,” he said, bowing his head. “Thank you for seeing me, and you may call me Thomas.” It seemed odd to have her first name and not her his. 

She half smiled. “Thank you. Please, sit down.” She gestured to a chair opposite and began to pour him a drink. 

He smiled at the show of hospitality. “I came to give you this,” he said. He held out the fabric he’d taken from the hold of their last prize, as he took the offered seat. The fabric was soft in his hand, deep green and inlaid with gold stitching. It would suit her very well, he knew. 

She blinked at him in obvious surprise. “Thank you,” she said, slowly, cautious. 

She didn’t move to take it from him. It took him a moment to realise, with a jolt of surprise, that he was probably not the first man even that day that thought to bring her pretty gifts. Although his reasons were very different. He smiled, tamping down on the desire to laugh. “I am not hoping to win your favour with it,” he said, placing it gently on her desk. “Well, I mean, I am not hoping to win your favour in any way that is not simple friendship.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. Almost any man that said he was not interested in Max in that way would have been either a fool or a liar. And not one of them would stand a chance of being entertained by her. She was in love with Bonny, John had told him so, and had been in love with Eleanor Gurthrie before that. Thomas itched to ask her about it, but knew it would hardly be polite to do so at their first proper meeting. He had just met so few people that he would be able to talk to in the way that he knew he would be able to talk to her. The desire to reach out to her in some way was almost impossible to ignore. 

“Truly,” he said, hoping he seemed sincere. “I am here in friendship.” 

“Friendship?” she sounded skeptical, and he understood that. Nassau was not the place for idle friendships and he knew Max had perhaps more reason than most to know that.

“I admire what you’ve done here, greatly,” he said. “None wanted or expected you to succeed and you did it anyway. That is something that pleases me.”

She looked at him. “Have many people hoped that you wouldn’t succeed, Thomas?”

He took a breath, understanding well what she meant. He smiled at her. “Our upbringings were very different, I’m sure,” he said, “But, I have the sneaking suspicion that you will find we have more in common than you might think.” 

Max smiled at him. “Are you here to tell me your story?” 

He laughed. “Goodness no,” he said, waving a hand. “You don’t deserve that sort of afternoon, I’m sure. I just wanted to bring you the fabric, I thought perhaps it might make a very fetching dress. And then, I wanted to ask a little about the running of the island. No one seems able to offer a satisfactory explanation of how it works. Or, rather, why it doesn’t all fall apart at the smallest provocation.” 

“I see,” she said, spreading her hands on the table and giving him a calculating look. He held still and allowed her to assess him for a long moment. Then her lips thinned, as though she'd come to some conclusion. “I will answer your questions, Thomas. But first, I have one of my own.” 

He raised an eyebrow, a little amused at the challenge in her tone. He hadn't expected to get away without being quizzed at least a little as to his intentions, so he nodded easily in agreement. “Alright,” he said. “A fair trade.” 

Max leant forward, her eyes suddenly sharp. “You and Silver,” she said, slowly, careful. 

“Yes?” he asked, surprised, but not displeased that she’d brought it up. 

“You care for him?” Her tone was bland, but her eyes were focused and sharp. She was a good reader of people, clearly - she would have had to have been in her previous line of work - and he was aware that she was cataloguing his every movement. 

“What do you mean?” he replied, carefully. It was a delicate dance, he didn’t want to deny John but he was also aware that knowledge was power on the island and it wouldn’t do to concentrate it in one place. Even a place so capable as Max. 

She shrugged. “It would have been smart, to ingratiate yourself with him, being new to the crew, new to this world.” 

He laughed. “You’ve met John, yes? There’s nothing smart about developing fond feelings for him.” 

There was a flicker of a smile on her lips as she replied. “We worked together, briefly,” she said. “I liked him, even though it did not end how we hoped.” 

Thomas knew a little of the story. Enough to know that he shouldn’t push the subject. “He speaks very highly of you,” he said instead, and completely truthfully. 

“And he of you,” she said. 

Thomas didn’t need to exaggerate his smile at the compliment. She smiled back at him, apparently satisfied. He wondered why she had asked at all. Some concern for John, perhaps. Or perhaps it was just that she liked to gather information on her allies, it was the smart thing to do. Perhaps she wanted to know for the same reason Thomas wanted to know more about her and Bonny. More likely, it was all three. 

“Go on,” she said, leaning back. “Ask your questions.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows, surprised at the ease of her acceptance. But then he leant forward, eager not to miss the opportunity. They talked for a long time, Max sharing her views on how the island continued to function which Thomas drank in gratefully. In return she asked him a little about himself, which he mostly deflected. John would have been proud at how little he managed to give away without seeming to arouse too much suspicion. He should have known, of course, that she wouldn’t let the opportunity pass to ask him something that many people were likely wondering but had not had been in a position to enquire about.

“But I find myself surprised,” she said, suddenly, taking a drink from her cup as though unconcerned with his response, “at one thing about your appearance here.” 

Thomas’ heart stuttered for a moment, suddenly wondering what she knew. Surely it could be nothing of London, but the thought struck cold down his spine, anyway. “Oh?” he asked, feigning his own casualness. 

She nodded, eyes sharp. “That Silver has chosen to so publicly commit himself seems, to me, quite a reversal of type.” 

That, he hadn’t expected, at least not that the question would be so direct. “Oh?” he asked. “Why is that?” Her wording and tone suggested that she did not mean that it was that he was a man that was surprising. 

“He did not seem the type to tie himself to anyone, or to any place.” 

Her words struck something in him, a thought that had been lurking near the surface but he had been refusing to look directly at. It made him uncomfortable, anxious, to have it stated to plainly, like a universal truth that no one could be surprised to hear. He tried to smile through it, but wasn’t sure he was successful. John has agreed to stay, and that should be enough, but the reminder of his instinct to separate himself still made anxiety rise in him. “Well,” he said, trying to sound bright. “People are capable of the most extraordinary things, given the right circumstances.” 

She nodded, slowly. “I might have said, until recently, that I wasn’t sure I agreed.” 

He wondered about Bonny, her scowl and quick temper. He watched her carefully as he spoke his next words. “It’s not easy to love people that want to run from it.” 

He saw how his words landed with her; she lifted her chin, defiant. Thomas met her gaze, trying to show that he understood what she felt. They stared at one another for a long moment before she gave him a strange look, almost like compassion. “You seem a good man,” she said, leaning toward him, “so let me tell you something that I would have benefited from knowing. Sometimes life does things to people, it breaks them in ways that you cannot see. But it means that they do not know how to be loved. You can try, you can keep giving it to them, but I think it might run right through him.”

Thomas blinked, something in his chest stuttering in painful recognition. He swallowed, not wanting to continue the conversation. He knew, instinctively that it wouldn't lead anywhere good. “But not to you,” he said, deflecting again. “You’ve been through much and yet you are able to love just the same?” 

She looked at him for a long moment. “It is a hard won choice,” she said. “Not a path all wish to take.”

Thomas nodded. He knew what she meant but he found himself unable to form the words to best respond. 

“I hope that he has chosen the same path,” she said eventually, and apparently sincerely. “For both your sakes.”

Thomas licked his lips, caught off-guard by the frankness of her words. “Thank you,” he managed. “I believe that he has.” 

She raised her eyebrows at him, but in the end didn’t comment. Thomas wasn’t sure if he ought to be pleased or worried by that. They looked at each other for a moment, and Thomas felt some level of understanding pass between them. It warmed him. 

“I ought to go,” he said, looking at the clock over her shoulder. James and John would likely be back soon and he was loath to miss any time with them. 

“Thank you for coming,” she said, rising with him from her chair. “And for the gift.” 

He nodded. “Thank _you_ for the wine and the most excellent conversation.” 

“I shall see you soon,” she said, with an incline of her head. She seemed to genuinely hope that she would. Thomas smiled back at her.

***

John approached the agreed location with trepidation. He’d hoped that James might forget his agreement to learn to fight more proficiently. After Thomas’ strange mood on the journey back and the enjoyable first evening, he’d hoped to spend most of their free time all together. But instead, they’d done very little but work from the moment they'd arrived back. Then, finally, when they _had_ been granted some, James had elicited him to join him at a secluded location. _Not_ for the reason that John had first hoped, upon being asked. 

“How come Thomas doesn’t have to sneak around and trek through undergrowth for his lessons?” he asked, when he was close enough. 

James’ back was to him, but he turned as John spoke and grinned. “I didn’t think people seeing Long John Silver being roundly beaten in battle would be good for morale.” 

He sighed. “I suppose not.” Then his eyes landed the crutch, resting on a rock not far from where two swords were stuck into the ground. 

“You’ll have more control with that.” James flicked his head toward the crutch and John nodded in understanding. He made his way over to sit next to it and began to remove his peg. James watched him, seeming surprised. “I know you don’t like people seeing you without it-” he started, seeming a little uncertain, even as John was following his orders. 

“I think we’re a little past that now, no?” He grinned. “You’ve seen me in many more vulnerable situations and you said we’re here so no one else will see us, right?”

James nodded.

“Very well,” John said, climbing back to his feet and taking a sword and crutch. “Shall we?” 

It was hard and brutal. James gave him no quarter and John found it impossible to repel him. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried to follow his instructions, he couldn’t seem to stop the attacks. James’ sword ended at his throat or chest within moments of every parry. 

It seemed hours later when James paused and took a step back, apparently thinking that a greater set of instructions were needed. They were both short of breath, but John much more so than James. The loss of his leg had made him so much less agile, and every step took twice the energy as it once had. Sweat was beading at his forehead as he tried to steady his breathing and let his heart slow its frantic rhythm. 

“Your opponent’s wrist is from whence the attack is born,” James said, clearly enjoying his new role as teacher, John bit down on his desire to smile, “it is its past tense from which it cannot separate itself. The end of the blade, from where the attack arrives, is its present tense which also cannot be denied. You’re still watching my eyes,” he said, mouth upturned into a smile. “Which is a good way of getting yourself killed.” 

“They’re distracting,” John said, trying to make him laugh, “I’m never sure if they’re going to be more green or more blue when I look at them. They change by the hour.” He was rewarded with a small smile, but no lessening of his expectant gaze. He sighed and relented. “How exactly is one supposed to watch two points in space at the same time?” 

“Practice,” he said, succinct and a little too pleased with himself. “All warfare is the same. There are two things of paramount importance: who was my opponent yesterday and who is he today? Answer those two questions, and there is very little he can do to combat you.” 

The words struck John dumb, his heart starting to race. He resisted the urge to fidget and instead went for distraction. “Well,” he said, “that strikes me as the sort of thing that _sounds_ very wise, but might in fact mean nothing at all of use. Am I to stop mid-battle and ask every man his entire life story?”

James laughed, as was his intention. “It was a metaphor,” he replied, mock stern. “If you recall, we were talking about watching your opponent’s arm and wrist.”

“Ah,” he said, bowing his head in mock defeat. “Fair enough. Shall we try again?” 

They did and it went exactly the same way as all their other bouts. So did the next one. And then the two after that. The conversation was left behind them, forgotten in the physical exertion as the day wore on. James gave him little rest, explaining that running these drills was the only way his body would adapt to what was needed of it. He soon ached at every muscle and frustration began to rise at his inability to get his body to do as he commanded it. He hated the feeling. He’d been more aware of his limits since losing his leg than ever before and it made him feel exposed and embarrassed. 

The tenth time he ended up on the point of James’ sword he couldn’t keep it in check any longer. “Fuck you,” he spat, then tried to laugh but was mostly unable to hide his obvious frustration. 

“Manners,” James said, trying to seem stern but mostly coming across as entirely too pleased with himself. 

“Oh do shut up,” John said, fond despite his annoyance at himself. “You are not to lecture me on such matters."

James smiled at him, a little amused through his stern facade. "I have very good teaching in how to conduct myself, thank you," he said, with a little half bow. "I have dined with noblemen, can you claim as much?" 

His tone was teasing and so fond, that John forgot himself. He said the first thing that he could think of that might prick James' mock pomposity. "You threw Lord Alfred Hamilton out of his own house for disagreeing with his son about politics; I’m not sure we can trust whatever teaching you think you might have received.” 

“Thomas told you about that?” James asked, a frown suddenly etched across his forehead. 

“Yes,” John said, freezing and immediately realising his mistake. Bringing up James’ past was usually a sure way to off-balance him, give John the upper-hand for a moment, but he should have known better after the earlier near-miss. “He seemed rather fond of the memory.” He tried to keep his tone light. 

James watched him for a long moment, unmoving. “You might be the only other person still alive that knows that story.” 

John opened his mouth, but didn’t know how to respond. He let his sword drop to his side. He felt, inexplicably, like he needed to apologise, but held himself still. He had to wait for James to respond so he would know best how to proceed, trying to anticipate might make matters worse. 

“I don’t know a thing about you,” James said, eventually, slow like he was only just coming to the realisation. 

The words hit John hard, almost making him sway in place. He swallowed down the panic in his chest. “Well,” he said, “you know that Long John Silver needs lessons in combat to stop himself from being disarmed at random. That’s more than any other man alive.” 

“I meant about before,” James said, resolute in his point. “I have no idea who you were before. At least not before we found you.”

“Does that matter?” he asked, trying to smile but knowing it didn't take. “James, if there’s something you want to know, you should ask it, Thomas does all the time.” 

“I think I just did,” he said, frown deepening. “And you’ve never told the same story twice to Thomas.” 

John swallowed again, unable to hold his eye. He should have seen this coming. Perhaps Thomas was too amused by his stories - or was content to believe there was some truth in them - to really push him about his past. But James would not be so diverted. He was focused now, like he’d just seen John for the first time. Perhaps he had. It had to happen eventually. John was always going to be measured and found wanting. He’d assumed it would be because he couldn’t keep up, physically or mentally with him, but he’d somehow managed to rise to every occasion James had thrown them into. James’ need for him to be better had made him be so. But this was the limit of it. This was the line. He would be able to go no further. He smiled and shrugged, but continued to watch him steadily, not backing down. 

“You know all there is to know,” he said, trying to sound level, “I was born in Whitechapel.” He tried to look at James but found himself still unable to hold his eye and looked away again immediately. “Never knew my mother-” That fianlly made James look away from him, nodding in something like disbelief, but still John continued to talk, hoping against all reason that it would be enough. “I had a wholly unremarkable youth. I spent most of it at a home-”

“Home for boys,” James said, talking over him. “I know, I know. You’ve told me - and Thomas - of your experiences there. Except that isn’t any more true than you growing up in Liverpool. Or Birmingham. Or Spain. I always took your refusal to give us the truth to be a game, and I never minded that, Thomas loves his stories and they entertained him. Me too, actually. But what’s concerning me, John, is that I just asked you for the truth, now, after how invested we’ve become in each other. And you told me a lie. Like I’m just another member of the crew to spin some tall tale for. Why is that?”

“It isn’t important.” He meant both the reason for him not saying and the story itself. He wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to convince. His heart was racing, as it always did when he had no choice but to think of the past. He felt sick with it. How could James do this? Surely he could see how little he wanted to think about it. 

James paused, looked down again. “Alright,” he sighed and there was less than a second where John thought he might have convinced him. Then he looked back at John, face creased and worried. “Although you know that isn’t true either.”

“Why isn't it true?” He wanted to shake his head, but forced himself to hold still. “James-” he started, but James was speaking over him again. 

“I'm sorry, the more I try and dismiss this, I…” He looked down at his sword, as though he’d forgotten what it was doing there. He did look sorry, too, like he was embarrassed to find himself hurt by John’s dismissal of his questions. “You know my story and Thomas’. You know what happened to us, to Miranda, all of it. Through all that telling, through all the time you spent with him and the time with me before and after it. You never once told me something real about yourself-”

It felt like a great weight was pressing down on John’s chest. He could barely breathe for it. James wasn’t letting it go, and soon John would have to show that this was the line and James would need to weigh if it was one he could live with. Then he’d tell Thomas and _he_ would have to do the same. His voice wavered embarrassingly when he spoke. “Slow down, I-” 

“I'm not angry with you.” James sounded like he meant it, but his voice was still tight with something else. Hurt, perhaps. And that might have been worse. “It's just... you know my story. And for some reason I cannot figure…” 

John’s heart sank to somewhere near his remaining foot. He looked down in defeat before speaking, confirming for James what he was starting to suspect. “I don't want you to know mine.” He couldn’t stay. He didn’t want to see the impact of his confirmation, he didn’t want James to decide how to respond. He started to move, walking by him quickly. He needed to get away, he couldn’t be there a moment longer. 

“Wait a minute-” James started, surprised and a little hurt sounding. 

“I…” He began, pausing to shake his head, feeling lost and unsure what to say. “I understand your concern. I just…” He sighed, picking up his peg and depositing the sword in its place. “We'll resume tomorrow. Is that all right?” He left before James could respond. 

James didn’t bring it up again. Not that night, nor at their next training session. He didn’t say a single thing that was even _related_ to John's past. And neither did Thomas. John kept waiting for it, for James to expand on the conversation, to press John to tell him everything. The thought filled his chest with fear, his throat closing around the idea of speaking about anything in his past. But the conversation never came. James seemed in every way normal. He’d been quiet when he’d first returned but had John forced himself to act as though nothing had happened and soon James followed suit. They had a lovely evening together. Thomas even read aloud to them before they retired. 

But John knew better than to think it was over. He’d inflicted a wound on their relationship, he’d known it immediately and it was like he could see it growing deeper the longer he left addressing it. If he didn’t do something about it soon then it would begin to fester and the whole thing might start to decay around them. He needed to cauterise it. It might kill them, but it was their only chance. 

Only fear kept him silent. He knew the likely outcome of telling James that this was a part of himself that he was not able to give. This was it, John had realised as he walked away from the clearing and James, with a sinking feeling. First Thomas after he’d seen just a hint of John’s darkness in battle and now James. They were pulling away from him, as they started to see what he truly was: a one legged monster with no past and only a story of someone else’s telling to recommend him. It had been foolish to assume he could keep them for any length of time, but he’d hoped. Like a fool. And yet still, he found himself delaying talking about it. That too was selfish, but that was his default, he supposed. 

He broke a week later. 

“Fuck!” he hissed, as the tip of James’ sword once again came to rest near his throat. 

“You're still leaning forward.” James seemed disappointed in him. That was what finally did it. Seeing the look in his eyes as he turned away, like he couldn’t bear to look at him. John couldn’t bear it any longer. “Let's go again.”

“I have no story to tell.” His voice was flat, but he couldn’t keep all the fear out of it. James could probably see right through him, anyway. “It all might seem as though I'm trying to conceal something from you, but... truth is…” He thought, for a moment, that he might be able to do it. He’d considered it, over the last week, when he was looking at James and Thomas, as they lay together. He’d thought he might be able to just do it. Thought he might be able to tell them about it. Not everything. Not- But some of it. Enough to satisfy whatever fear James had at what he was keeping hidden, at least. But as soon as he started to speak, he realised it was folly. He couldn't. The words simply wouldn’t come. “There is no story to tell.” 

James' eyes turned away when John finally finished, like he couldn't stand to look at him any longer. “No one's past is that unremarkable.” James’ voice was soft. Again, not angry, but hurt. It was worse. 

“Not unremarkable, just…” he tried, his voice was beseeching in a way that he might have hated himself for if he didn’t feel so desperate, so wretched, “without relevance.” He looked at James, trying to show him how seriously he meant it. He had to try. Whatever was between them was always going to end, John wasn’t able to hold anyone’s love for long. He wasn’t built that way and so it was all going to end eventually. Everyone left him in the end. He’d just hoped, foolishly, that he might delay it, that he might keep them for a while longer. At least until after the fight for Nassau was done. If this all fell apart now, he knew what it meant: the fight for Nassau would also fail. 

But perhaps he could make James _understand_ , even if he couldn’t give him exactly what he wanted. He took a deep breath. “A long time ago, I absolved myself from the obligation of finding any. No need to account for all my life's events in the context of a story that somehow... defines me.” The words hurt on the way out, he felt exposed and wretched. It was almost as bad as thinking about the past, but he forced himself on. He had to try. “Events, some of which, no one could divine any meaning from... other than that the world is a place of unending horrors. I've come to peace with the knowledge... that there is no storyteller imposing any coherence, nor sense, nor grace upon those events. Therefore, there's no duty on my part to search for it.” He looked up and held James’ eyes. The other man hadn’t moved, was watching him with an unreadable expression on his face. John’s heart felt so heavy he wanted to lie down with the weight of it. “You know of me all I can bear to be known. All that is relevant to be known. That is to say, you know my genuine…” he faltered, for a moment unsure if James would appreciate the word that had formed on the tip of his tongue, instead choosing the easier one, “friendship... and loyalty. Can that be enough and there still be trust between us?” 

He wondered if James understood what it cost him to ask that. To lay himself so bear and then beg for scraps from a table he knew he’d soon be banished from entirely. 

There was a long pause where they stared at each other. John wanted to reach out, wanted to touch. But he didn’t deserve that. He held himself still. 

“Again.” James said, at last, taking a step back. 

John watched him, trying to discern any deeper meaning in the words. But he could find none. 

*****

John should have known, after his lessons with James, that it was a portent of the end. John was not allowed to have the things that he wanted. He knew better than to think that he would be able to keep the feeling he’d been waking up with since the first night he spent with both James and Thomas. It might have started with James realising that John wasn’t able to give all of himself, but the rest came almost immediately afterwards. 

“There’s been word,” Rackham said, not even his customary smirk on his face, the moment John entered the tavern. Something was very wrong. His heart sank but he kept his face very neutral, just nodded his understanding and followed him to Max’s office. 

She was sitting at the desk, her face serious but unreadable otherwise. She was holding a letter. John looked at the sheaf of paper and was suddenly reminded forcibly of the first time they met. He almost smiled. If they’d known then what that fucking piece of paper was going to lead to, would they have just burnt it? 

He looked over his shoulder to Thomas and James who were walking in behind him, and Bonny sulking in the shadows at the back of the room. No, he knew with absolute certainty, they wouldn’t have. Which wasn’t to say that it wouldn’t have been the better decision. 

“It’s Eleanor,” Rackham said, before the door was even fully closed. 

Vane shifted, hardly perceptively, in his seat at the sound of her name. John ignored him. 

“And?” he asked when no one spoke, “I assume she wasn’t writing with an update on her journey?”

“She’s in Philadelphia,” Max said, “with her family. But she’s sent us a warning about her husband.” 

James sighed. “A warning? And we’re meant to believe a word of it?” He had taken the way Eleanor turned on them hard. Not quite as hard as Vane, but hard enough that the sound of her name made him visibly angry. John was never really sure what was between them. He’d wondered, at first, if they were fucking. But now he thought that perhaps James had seen himself more as a mentor to her. 

“She says he’s going to the Spanish,” she finished, leveling a hard look at James. “He believes they will give him ships and men to retake the island.” 

John looked at James, who seemed to have frozen for a moment. “And we believe her?” he asked, looking between them. 

James swallowed and flicked his eyes to John and back to Max. “She was here,” he said, “when they came last. They killed her mother. If it’s true, it’s possible that she doesn’t stand with Rogers in this course of action.” 

“She doesn’t,” Max said. “She is trying to convince her grandfather to intervene, she believes there might be a way forward, with their support. But-” She stopped and looked at Vane and Rackham. 

“Not if Nassau is just a smoking ruin and we’re all dead,” Rackham said. 

“Is there a way to find out if he’s been successful?” Thomas asked, his voice level but John could hear the worry in it. It was a good plan, that was the problem. It might not take that many resources to take the island and it would certainly send a message _and_ give the Spanish a chance at retaking their gold. 

"We have to assume that he has,” Rackham said. “Not preparing would be disastrous.” 

“What’s the soonest he could be here?” James asked. Although John could see nothing but Flint in him when he spoke. He was so transformed from when it was just the three of them he might as well be two entirely different men. James was not just softer, kinder, but so much _happier_ , hopeful and younger. 

He felt, suddenly, _furious_. This _fucking_ island never allowed anyone a moment’s peace. It twisted and used you until there was nothing left. James was never going to be able to let himself just be and because of that John was never going to know what he might be capable of if he stopped fighting for an island that thought him a monster. And he was never going to stop. None of it was ever going to stop. 

“We need more fire power,” Vane growled, speaking for the first time. He was smoking, looking at the tip as it smoldered. The smoke curled around him, keeping him slightly obscured in behind it. 

“Yes,” Rackham sighed. “That would be lovely, Charles, but unless you’re storing a spare ship or two somewhere about your person, I’m not sure how that helps.”

That earned him a glare, at which he didn’t flinch. He’d grown, John realised, since he’d first met him. The Rackham he’d met when he first arrived here would have stuttered and tried to cover the silence. John found himself almost proud of him. Having the affection of two beautiful women was apparently good for him. 

“Teach,” Vane muttered, barely moving his lips, like he was annoyed at having to say it. 

James’ eyebrows rose. “You think he’d come?” 

Vane shrugged. “It’s possible,” he said. “For the right price.”

“It would have to be a very high one,” Rackham said, ever the voice that no one really wanted to hear. “We’d have to give him more than an equal share of what’s left of the Urca gold.” 

“His ships would help,” James said, suddenly considering. “You think you can convince him?” 

Another shrug. “If he doesn’t kill me.” 

“Well, great,” Rackham huffed. “So we could end this one captain down.”

“It’s the only chance we have,” James said, eyes not leaving Vane’s. “How much?” 

“Fifty percent.” 

There was a round of swearing. 

“Of the original haul or of what’s left?” Thomas asked, practical as ever. 

“Original.” 

More swearing. 

John sighed and felt compelled to say, “The men won’t be happy.” 

“Less happy if they’re all dead,” James said, irritable because he knew John was right and didn’t relish the argument. “They’ll take it if we both agree to it.” It was true and at least they’d won decent prizes recently. 

“How long for you to reach him and get back here?” Thomas asked. He looked serious, so different from when John pictured him. In John's head he was always smiling, face creased with amusement or affection. He hated seeing him here, even if part of him respected his ability to keep court so easily. It made anger flare in him again. 

“A week,” Vane said. “Perhaps two.” 

There was a collective release of breath. That would be cutting it fine. It would possibly be cutting it entirely too late. It was going to happen anyway. They were all going to gamble their lives again on something that had little chance of success.

He clenched his jaw and balled his fists as he tried to listen to the rest of what was being discussed. But he couldn’t concentrate. He kept looking between James and Thomas. They seemed so focused, so alert, ready to meet whatever battle was coming. Ready to die for it. And for _what_? What would them all dying achieve, really? Nassau might remain free for a little longer. As little as months or as long as a few years. But then what? It would all be for nothing in the end. He looked away, staring at the floor and trying to keep his breathing steady. 

He couldn’t watch them die. He couldn’t do it. Not now. He couldn’t lose them. It was worse, somehow, much worse, than the thought of himself dying. This was what he’d been afraid of. But there was no denying it now. He loved them. He loved them with such a ferocity that he simply couldn’t let anything happen to them. He’d done such great things, and this was going to be another one. Perhaps his last. But he would see to it that they still lived once this war ended. 

The meeting continued while they agreed on the details of the strategy - _The Walrus_ would scout and keep the others informed of any news on Rogers’ movements; Rackham would keep the fort while Billy kept the island ready for an invasion. John was called on, once or twice, and he gave short, clipped answers. He was almost sure that they were relevant to the questions, but he couldn’t be entirely sure, as his thoughts whirled, scattered and afraid.

“Perhaps they’ll let us live,” Rackham said, pausing at John’s shoulder as they were leaving, and then when John stared at him blankly, “if Rogers takes the island; he wanted to give us pardons before.” 

John shook his head. “He’ll have no choice but to kill Long John Silver. If I were him I’d start there. And he already tried to hang you once and that was before you humiliated him and left him for dead.” 

“Yes,” Rackham agreed, which was probably meant more as a compliment about his status than dire warning. “And your friend?” He nodded at Thomas who was walking ahead of them, still deep in conversation with James. “He’s still bent on fighting the empire?” 

John huffed, mirthless. “There’s not an injustice that he’s not set on battling,” he said. “He’d no sooner walk away from this than Flint.” The name felt a little clunky in his mouth now, but it helped, keeping the captain and the man separate in his mind. 

“It’s a shame,” Rackham said, almost like he meant it. “They might overlook a little lord who’s got lost in the new world. He’s not a pirate, really.” 

“That’s not it,” he cast a look over at Thomas, who had now turned to Max, face serious as he explained some point of other. She watched him carefully, like she was interested in what he had to say, like there was merit to it. “He's far more dangerous to them than me. Than Flint or Vane even. He's not set on crashing vainly against the walls of civilisation,” he said. “He means to unravel it at its very core. He means to spark a revolution.” 

“Well,” Rackham said, light and airy in a way that had to be affected, “then we’re all truly fucked. Drink?” 

John closed his eyes on the mirthless laugh that escaped him. “Yeah,” he agreed on a sigh. “Why not?” 

It wasn’t long after that they left; no one had much mood for drinking. The atmosphere was sombre and they all had much to prepare. Repairs were still ongoing at the fort. Billy would have to be brought up to date on the plan - he’d likely be annoyed that he wasn’t at the meeting. Maroon should also be contacted. John felt tired just thinking about it all. 

“Are you okay?” Thomas asked, touching his arm, as they left the tavern. The three of them were all going to James’ room. None of them had talked about it, but John knew that’s where they were going. It was comforting, and sad, how little time they’d had. How few memories he’d been able to build with them before it had all come crashing down. 

John clenched his jaw, swayed a little into him as they walked. It wouldn’t matter if he took the comfort of him now; everyone knew they were together. It was a nice thought, mixed as ever with a dash of pain, to think how fragile it all was. It might only be days until everyone that knew how much he loved Thomas was dead. “There was no discussion,” he said, when Thomas nudged him gently, pressing for an answer. 

“No discussion of what?” Thomas was leaning close, his breath gentle on John’s skin. He closed his eyes, trying to soak it in.

“About whether we ought to defend the island,” he clarified, voice low. 

“What? I don’t-”

“Of course you don’t,” he snapped, trying and failing to pull his arm back. He stopped walking, looking at Thomas. It was on the tip of his tongue. He could ask. He could try and persuade him to run. Together there was a chance they could convince James. They could be far, far away from Nassau before the Spanish ever got there. 

But as he looked at Thomas’ earnest, open face, he couldn’t do it. The words wouldn’t come. He knew how Thomas would look at him if he asked, the disappointment so poorly concealed as he gently told him all the reasons he couldn’t leave. John didn’t want to hear him say it. He didn’t want to hear Thomas choose this fight over him, over whatever it was they were building together. It would hurt almost as much as losing it, which he’d do either way. Better to spare himself the pain now. 

“It doesn’t matter.” He tried to smile. 

Thomas watched him, face serious and perhaps a little worried. “Okay,” he said, letting it go. “But I’m here, John, if you want to talk. I will always want to hear what you have to say.”

John regretted, afterwards, that he hadn’t tried. That he’d let the last chance to save them all slip through his fingers.

_TBC_


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this fairly action-packed chapter and please let me know what you think! I’m agarlandoffreshlycuttears over on tumblr if you want to stop by there.

He wasn’t sure when the idea had formed in his mind. He’d waited, at first, after the first time they’d all been together, for one of them to ask to fuck him. They never did. Perhaps it was something they only really wanted to share with each other, ideally when John wasn’t there. Perhaps they were just waiting for the right moment to ask him. Or, perhaps they were waiting for him to mention it.

What they did together, in James’ room got close, sometimes, and John found himself nudging things in that direction almost instinctively; letting Thomas’ cock slide between his thighs while he gasped and clutched at his back. Or pulling James’s hands to his arse, pushing up into the feeling of his hands exploring, so close but never quite touching him the way sometimes John wished he would. Sometimes it was like he could already feel it, the phantom feeling of being filled. He ached at the thought of it. But he couldn’t ask. He wasn’t really sure that he even wanted it. He wanted them to want it though and the thought of it was like an itch below his skin, growing harder to ignore by the day. 

It got so much worse after he knew the Spanish might arrive at any moment. It was like some invisible clock was ticking, louder and louder, in the background. They were probably all going to die and he’d never know what it felt like. Which was stupid, really, because what did it even matter? But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it did. That he’d been holding something of himself back, and for what? So he could die feeling like he’d won some internal, petty battle of self-denial?

Then it was agreed they should move to _The Walrus_ full time. They had to begin scouting for signs of Rogers, starting with a visit to Maroon to secure the treasure to pay Teach. The preparations they were needed for on the island were complete and so there was really no reason to delay. The realisation filled John with dread and he thought the feeling might be shared by the heavy silence that fell on the room when James finally suggested it.

They came together that night, meeting in James’ room, the last time they’d all probably get to be together on the island. They were silent, everything had been said that needed to be. All the plans had been made. They would meet Rogers when he finally came. The vanguard of the fight for Nassau. They would leave the island’s protection to Rackham, Max and Billy.

It might be enough, if Vane was successful, and if Maroon came to their aid. But it probably wouldn’t be. They all knew it. The fleet that was coming to take back the island was likely huge. He’d seen it in Vane’s eyes when he’d left to find Teach. He’d made his peace with it, that he would likely die to protect the island, or what he saw as the rightful life of pirates. John had wanted to scream with rage at the calm way he and everyone else accepted it, at the unfaltering hope they had in their tactics and their prowess.

They fell together almost as soon as the door was closed behind them. Fumbling with clothes, kisses sloppy and half-formed. They were a tangle of limbs, hands stroking and clutching, pulling each other close, when John realised what he was going to do.

He pulled away from Thomas’ mouth, reaching out blindly. He fumbled for the small bottle that had been claimed from a draw and then forgotten amongst the sheets.

“John?” James asked, as John searched, a frown etched across his brow.

“I need,” he said, feeling almost frantic when he couldn’t find it. He shifted through the sheets fruitlessly for long moments. “I need- _Fuck_.” He finally managed to find it only to pull the sheets awkwardly and flick it onto the floor. “Fuck.”

“Hey,” James said, suddenly at his side, both hands coming to rest on John’s, stilling them. “It’s fine, I’ve got it.” He reached down, maneuvering himself more easily over the bed, so he could extend to grip the bottle with his finger tips before handing it gently to John.

“I want you to fuck me.” The words came tumbling out and John was looking at James’ left eyebrow and not his eyes when he said it. But at least the words were out there.

He was met with silence for what seemed like an unreasonably long time.

“Well?” he asked, embarrassed and frustrated.

“Are you sure?” James asked, slowly, his eyes flicking over to Thomas for a moment before landing on John again.

“If it’s a problem,” John said, feeling his skin heating and temper flaring. “If you don’t want me-”

“John,” James said, soft and commanding, his hand moving up his arm to grip his forearm softly. John stilled under his touch, his fidgeting easing and his breathing evening out. “If you want it, of course, I-” Again, he looked at Thomas, and back to John. “I want you.”

John swallowed. Surprised at how the words affected him. It wasn’t even physical. They didn’t just inspire lust, although that was certainly part of it. They made his heart swell, made his eyes prickle, even though he knew James meant it physically and not in the sense of wanting John to stay with him forever. But, he couldn’t stop his treacherous heart from fluttering like a bird trapped in a cage at the thought of it. He managed to nod.

It was too much. The battle looming. James looking at him like he truly cared, like he might even love him. Thomas was still sitting at the edge of the bed and John looked at him for the first time. He’d asked for it to be James, but he wasn’t sure he could do it without Thomas there. He wanted it to be the three of them. Thomas smiled at him, gentle and like he understood precisely what John was thinking. And that was what did it. Something desperate swelled and crested in John’s chest.

He lunged forward to kiss James, hard, and reached blindly for Thomas as he went. He fumbled for a moment, before he was holding his hand with one of his own and reaching for James’ face with the other. “Please,” he said, when he pulled back. “Now.”

James swallowed, throat bobbing and for an absurd moment John wondered if he was nervous. “Okay,” he said, and then he kissed him again. “Okay.”

John’s heart was hammering in his chest, his breathing shallow, like he was preparing to go into battle. He supposed he was. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it. He did. He wanted it with a passion he hadn’t realised he even possessed until the moment he’d said it out loud. But, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t also afraid. He was giving James - and Thomas after a fashion - something of himself he’d never given anyone before. Something that he hadn’t intended to ever give. And there would be no going back from it. It was the final part of himself and then they would have it all. There would be no John without them, not any more. It was terrifying.

And he just wanted it over now the decision was made. He needed it done before he changed his mind or let himself think too much.

He pulled back from the kiss and twisted around so he was lying on his front. He closed his eyes, swallowed, and buried his face into the nearest pillow. There was a long pause where he barely let himself breathe and then a hand was on his shoulder. He had to hold himself tight to keep from jumping. But the hand just rested there for a moment, before running long strokes down his back.

“John,” it was Thomas, voice close to his ear, “he’s going to make you feel so good. But you need to relax.”

John shivered, and screwed his eyes more tightly shut for a moment to gather himself, before he opened them again. Thomas was smiling at him, gentle and understanding. John wanted to twist away from it at the same time as moving toward it.

James’ hands were on him, running gentle but sure across the base of his spine. Then they were replaced by his lips. John huffed out a surprised breath. He arched up into the feeling, then had to hold his breath because of the new position. This was how it was going to happen, he realised, and immediately froze.

“You know,” Thomas said, after another pause, “it will be easier if you’re completely relaxed first.”

He opened his eyes again not realising he’d even closed them. “I thought-”

“I know,” he said. “But it’ll be easier for you-”

“I don’t want easier,” he snapped, frustrated and impatient. “I just want this done. I don’t want tomorrow to be here without- _for fuck’s sake_ just do it.” He felt guilty for snapping the moment the words were out. He turned away so he wouldn't have to look at Thomas or see his reaction. 

“Alright,” James’ voice was hard, commanding. “Turn over, John.”

Then when John didn’t comply he found himself flipped, his back landing with a soft thud on the bed. “What-?

“We are going to do this,” James said, eyes focused and intent. They made John want to wriggle away but kept him pinned in place at the same time. “But we’re doing it our way. You will not turn this into something it is not. This, here,” he pointed between the three of them, “in this room, it’s not like out there. However brutal and uncaring it is, whatever happens there, it will not be a part of what happens here. Do you understand me?”

John swallowed heavily, but could do nothing but nod. There was nothing he could deny him. Not since the day he’d finally given in to working with him. James knew it as well as John did.

“Okay,” James said, eyes fixed on his, as he positioned himself back between John's legs. He swallowed, eyes flicking down his body and back to his face. John had never felt more exposed. James smiled at him, slow and pleased. He reached out a hand, pulling Thomas to him and kissing him, long and deep. They clasped hands, fingers tangled together.

John looked at their hands, and then reached out, needing to touch, to feel connected to them. Thomas ended the kiss and then bent down to kiss John once, lingering. He looked back at James and then he ducked down and took John in his mouth.

“Oh,” John breathed, eyes fluttering closed. Thomas was kneeling at an awkward angle at his side, leaving James between his legs. There were hands on him, stroking and calming. Then Thomas pulled off him, taking a pillow and placing it under his hips. He grinned at him, cheeky and pleased, before he ducked back down.

“Fuck,” John breathed, trying to banish the thought that it might be the last time he ever felt Thomas' mouth on him.

They would win. They could win. There had never been a pirate fleet as united as theirs before. It wasn’t impossible. They could do it. They would have to. Still, the desperation wouldn’t subside.

“John,” James said, and he managed to force his eyes open. He looked down at Thomas, his head bobbing with the motion of his mouth over him. John’s breath hitched at the sight of it, making his hips lift up into the hot wetness of Thomas’ mouth. He forced himself to focus back on James. “I’m going to use my fingers first, it’ll make it easier. Just try to relax.”

John closed his eyes. He really didn’t want a lecture on what was about to happen. He didn’t want to think. He forced himself to nod, though, because there was every chance that James wasn’t going to do anything until John played along with whatever game had had decided to play.

Thomas continued to suck him, slow, not really enough for John to come and he so desperately wanted to push up, to get some real friction. But Thomas had one big hand splayed over his stomach, keeping him in place.

Then he felt James shift forward, and his hand moved between John’s legs. He ran a finger down between his cheeks, not pushing, more teasing or testing something. John kept himself still only through a great force of will. This seemed to satisfy James because he smiled and then he was pushing forward slowly. John felt the tip of one finger, inching forward.

“Just-” John twisted where he lay, trying to pull away and push back at the same time, “come on.”

James smirked at him. “You’re going to enjoy this,” he said, mock stern, “and I’m not going to hurt you. We have to take it slow, at least the first time.”

John took a breath. Tried to let it out slow but it didn’t help. He could feel James’ finger, insistent and somehow too big and this was just the start-

“He’s been thinking about this,” Thomas said, voice gentle, low like he didn’t want James to hear. John turned his head, needing to see him. He’d barely noticed that he’d stopped sucking at him and he blinked at him in confusion. “Do you know how long he’s wanted this? Wanted you?”

John continued to blink mutely at him, incapable of forming a response.

Thomas grinned, reaching out with his hand to stroke John’s cock slowly. John’s breath caught for a moment. Thomas leant down, his mouth close to John’s ear. “He’s wanted you for so long, John, let him take his time. Let him feel you.”

John swallowed, James’ finger was inside him now. It was a strange feeling. Not exactly unpleasant, but not really enjoyable either. He felt stretched, the burn of it was good, in a way, a counterbalance to what Thomas’ hand and words were doing to him. “Yes?” he asked, suddenly not wanting him to stop talking.

“He told me,” he said, “did you know? He told me that he thought about this, before I came back, even. He’s wanted you all that time and you’re doing so good. Look at you, you’re perfect. Can you see the way he looks at you, sometimes? Like he’d like to drop to his knees right there on the deck, in front of everyone, and just have you?”

“Oh,” John breathed, hips shifting up, pushing into Thomas’ fist and then down onto James’ finger. Heat was building low in his belly, his skin flushing with heat.

James’ finger crooked and then straightened before pulling back and pushing back. John met the thrust, mouth opening on a pant. He nodded, not sure who or what he was agreeing with. Perhaps just the current alignment of the universe. He was rewarded by James pulling out and then pushing back in with two fingers.

“Oh God,” he managed. It still hurt, there was no denying that it was uncomfortable, but it was more than that. It was so intense. He hadn’t expected that, that the pain of it would add to it, make it realer in a way that meant he couldn’t be anywhere but in the moment with James, with Thomas.

“Fuck, John.” James’ voice was rough, like he was holding himself back from something and the sound of it sent little thrills up and down John’s spine. It was nearly too much. Somehow Thomas seemed to have anticipated that because he was no longer stroking him, instead running a hand up and down his torso gently, leaving little shivers in his wake.

“Soon,” Thomas cooed into his ear, “he’s going to slick himself and he’s going to push inside you. It’s going to feel so good. Can you imagine how it’ll feel for him, after waiting so long for it? How tight and hot? But he’s going to look after you, go slow, so it’s not too much. Because he wants it to be good. But it’ll take all his self control because of how good it feels.”

John opened his eyes, but Thomas wasn’t looking at him, his eyes were fixed on James, who was apparently either following his direction or Thomas was just narrating what he was seeing. He reached out a hand, wanting to feel Thomas close. He found his hand, clasped it tight.

“Stay,” he panted. Which was stupid. Like Thomas was suddenly going to remember he had urgent business elsewhere and leave.

But Thomas smiled, fond and happy at him. “I’m not going anywhere, John,” he said. “I’m going to be right here with you.”

His hand was back on his cock and James was pushing forward all at once and John hissed out in surprise. He could feel the tip of James cock, blunt and so much bigger than his fingers pushing forward. He thought for a horrifying moment that he wasn’t going to fit, that this was all going to be for nothing. Then Thomas kissed him softly and John let out a slow breath. Then James pushed forward again and the head of his cock was inside John.

“Fuck,” James muttered, “ _fuck_ , John.”

It was so much. He could feel James, his hands on his hips, keeping him in place at the right angle. Then he could feel the long, hard, hot, length of him pushing deep into him. James pushed forward slowly until his hips was pressed flush against John. There he paused, and nothing happened for a long moment. John prised open his eyes to find James watching him intently. They locked gazes and John could see the intensity of James’ feeling written across his face. He was always so expressive and John could plainly see how good it must feel for him, how much he wanted it. Wanted John. He wanted to say something, wanted to tell him how much better it felt than he'd expected, but he was beyond speech.

Instead he hitched his hips forward, trying to encourage James to move.

“That’s it,” Thomas said, soft, voice a little strained, “show him how much you want it.”

“God,” John managed, closing his eyes and pushing back against James.

He felt the slow slide, every tiny movement, as James pulled out. Then pushed slowly back in. There was no rhythm, not at first. It was just them coming together, finding one another and how they fitted. On one thrust forward, James changed angles and he hit something inside John that made him arch off the bed and pleasure blossom warm inside of him. His toes curled and he gasped, pushing back against James, searching for the feeling again.

“Did that feel good?” Thomas asked. “Did you know it could be like that?”

John licked his lips, tried to answer but couldn’t. James was moving, getting more confident now John apparently hadn’t freaked out and stopped him. The burn was easing, gently, as John got used to the feeling. He started to want more, missing the intensity of it. James apparently got the message because he started to move faster, pushing harder into him.

“Open your eyes,” Thomas said. “Look at him. Look how beautiful he looks like this.”

John managed to wrench his eyes open and immediately let out a groan, low and guttural. Thomas was right. James looked incredible. Focused and yet clearly lost in the feeling of building pleasure.

“Touch him,” John managed, nodding to Thomas, who grinned. He shuffled a little further down the bed so he could reach for James, run a hand over his chest and kiss him. James gasped at the touch, leaning in to kiss Thomas hungrily. He didn’t still his movements, his hips snapping forward in a way that left John gasping. John could see the way Thomas was hitching forward, rubbing himself against James, as he moved.

John’s cock was jumping with every thrust that seemed to hit something inside of him that was building, the tide of pleasure cresting slowly. He tugged on Thomas’ hand, feeling desperate.

“Please,” he gasped, “oh, fuck, James, fuck, please.”

James moaned, losing his rhythm, and it made John’s toes curl at the thought that he was affecting him so much. He shifted in place, desperate for release. Thomas had pulled back from James so he could stroke John’s cock, matching the rhythm of James’ thrusts, his other hand touching himself. John wasn’t sure where to look, everything building so high that he felt like it might consume him entirely.

“John,” James said, low, urgent. “I- _John_.”

That was it, knowing what was about to happen tipped John over the edge. He came, back arching off the bed, into Thomas’ hand. He let out a shout that was echoed by James and then he wasn’t entirely sure what happened. But when he came back to himself, James was draped over him, breath coming fast, and he was peppering little kisses across John’s skin.

“James,” he whispered, feeling strange, too full and too empty. He thought for an awful moment like he might cry. “Kiss me.”

James didn’t hesitate, taking John’s face in his hands and kissing him softly. He was perfect, James poured himself into the kiss, with total concentration. “You were so-” he said when he pulled back, smiling. “I hope it was as you hoped.”

John couldn't help the laugh, disbelieving that James even had to ask. “I think I turned inside out and died.” James smiled, fond and little pleased, at him. “It was perfect.”

They kissed and John had never felt more connected to anyone. It was like he couldn’t get close enough. He pushed forward, wanting to touch all of James at once. Like he might climb right inside his skin if he could.

A thought occurred to him, some time later, and he turned his head. Thomas was lying on his side, head propped on one hand, watching them with a pleased and fond expression. “Thomas,” he breathed, reaching for him.

Thomas shifted closer and dropped a kiss on his lips.

“I should-” John started, reaching for him, but Thomas just smiled, shaking his head.

“But you-” John started, gesturing.

“It’s fine,” Thomas said, something like laughter in his voice. “If you think I was going to resist finishing myself off while watching that you are vastly overestimating my self control. You were beautiful.” He kissed him again.

John blinked back tears, watching him with a confused sort of wonder.

“I love you,” Thomas said, smiling, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Tears were gathering at the corners of John's eyes. He almost said it, the words welling up in his chest but then at the last moment catching in his throat. He couldn’t. It was too much. He would shatter under it and he wasn’t sure he could put himself together afterwards. And he had to. Someone had to protect them. Someone had to make sure that they didn’t sacrifice themselves to this useless war. He took a breath. Shallow. Then another, slightly deeper.

He pulled Thomas to him, kissed him hard. Trying desperately to press himself into him, trying somehow to show what he couldn’t say. Thomas pulled back, looked at him for a long moment, like he was waiting. John stared back. He wondered if he could see his guilt. The shame of it. He wondered how often Thomas had seen the same look in other men’s eyes. He hated himself. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it, but it was the first time he’d felt so utterly wretched with it.

“It’s okay,” Thomas said, pulling back, dropping a kiss on his forehead, then on both his closed eyes. He sounded like he really meant it. That was worse, somehow. “It’s okay, John.”

John looked at him, wanting to keep the moment. He didn’t want to move beyond it and have it mean that he didn’t say anything. But that wasn’t how it worked. The moment was gone as soon as John tried to hold it.

“We should sleep,” James said, voice still rough.

John nodded, pulling Thomas close. He came to John easily and John was so relieved that he let out a slow breath. He reached for James, pulling them both so close that they were almost piled on top of each other. They slept that way, none of them wanting to move or break contact.

***

“We’re going to need a bigger bed,” John sighed, sometime the next morning, trying to shift and not dislodge any limbs that were currently thrown over him. None of them had suggested that any of them ought to leave during the night, as though having reached some unspoken agreement that it was far too late to be worrying about gossip. The sun was up and still none of them seemed to want to leave the bed. It felt good to pretend; while they were all tangled together under the sheets, it felt like the inevitable might still be averted. John found he could talk about after the battle that was looming like it was a real place they could reach.

“James will build us one.” Thomas’ voice was muffled, his face still pressed into John’s chest. He reached over to lay a hand on James’ arm, which was wrapped around John’s stomach. It was possibly the only thing anchoring him to the bed.

James lifted his head to stare at him. “James is going to sleep until someone makes him get out of this bed by force,” he replied, but his lips were curling into a smile. “I’ll need a week to recover from last night before any beds are built.”

Thomas nudged John, smiling up at him, delightedly. “He agreed to do it.”

John laughed, unable to keep the little bubble of joy in his chest any longer. Thomas’ smile grew and he stretched up to kiss John on his shoulder. There was a bruise starting to darken the skin there. He wondered, with a pleasant buzzing feeling, who had left it there. “I heard it,” he assured Thomas, who was still lightly laying kisses along his skin. “He’s a man of his word.”

“As soon as we’re back,” Thomas agreed, softly. “He’ll build us a giant bed and we’re not getting out of it for a month.”

Both the other men hummed in reply. John smiled, despite the way his heart suddenly felt heavy with grief. He leant into Thomas, bringing James hand to his mouth and kissing it softly.

****

They were set upon suddenly and without any apparent warning when they were in sight of Maroon. It had only been a week since they left Nassau, taking a longer route to Maroon to check in with the scouts that were searching for signs of Rogers. It all happened so fast that John barely had time to register that he wasn’t in the least surprised that it all fell apart immediately. That the planning amounted to nothing.

Rogers managed somehow to not only surprise them but also get the better position. John wasn't sure how he'd even managed to find them - perhaps it was just luck, or their seeming unending supply of bad luck. His ship was fast, despite its bigger size. It was mercifully alone, at least, perhaps having pressed ahead of the rest of the fleet. Maybe with the express purpose of what it was doing currently. Killing Flint and Long John Silver would significantly weaken the resolve of the island and make an invasion easier. At least until Vane returned, but perhaps by then it would be all over and there would be no point in attacking. It was a sound strategy and they should have seen it coming.

The fight was brutal, but short. There was no else close enough to give them aid and Rogers was merciless.

“Abandon ship.” James’ voice was loud, commanding. It sent a terrible shot of cold right through John.

 _His home._ Rogers had come to take his home from him. The ship was making awful splintering sounds all around them and John turned to run, unable to keep his footing and stumbling along with the rest of the crew.

John would see Rogers burn for this.

As he looked at the other ship he could see the men aboard scurrying about, preparing to continue to fire. It was getting closer, ready to try and stop as many of them escaping the ruins of _The Walrus_ as possible. He longed to be able to reach them, to cause just a little suffering in return for what he was feeling now. But he didn’t have time to think further because James was at his side and ushering him to the side of the ship, where he could join the men already climbing down the ropes to the boats waiting below.

“I’ll be slowest,” he protested.

“Then get started,” James hissed, pushing him with one arm and swinging around to survey the bodies that streamed by them over the sides and down the rope ladders.

“Thomas,” John called, turning himself. He could see him, tall and a little imposing amongst the rest of the crew. He turned and waved John and James on. What was he doing? He was half-turned looking back to below deck, looking at something John couldn't see.

They paused, waiting for him to come, but shots began again and they had to duck away, swing over the side of the ship to begin their way down. Thomas was fast, he would easily be able to catch up to John.

Had he known, he would have paused longer, would have thought to burn the image of him across the smoke into his memory. He would curse himself later for not doing it.

It was painfully slow going, his fucking leg getting tangled with almost every step, and every delay seemed to make his heart tick a little faster in his chest. He wanted to look around, wanted to see where James was, how the rest of the men were doing, but he daren’t lose concentration even for a moment.

He took another step and missed his footing, swinging wildly out and away from the side of the ship. He flailed, feeling the world tip and spin around him, and had to stifle a cry. Bullets ripped by over his head, men were crying out in pain and fear all around him. He couldn't die like this, he couldn’t let it happen. He needed to get off the rigging. He needed to get to the water. He took a breath and forced himself calm, and then took another step down. Another. He was close, so very close and then there was a deafening crack and he was falling, still holding the ropes.

He hit the water and had only a moment to gasp for air before he was being pulled under. He kicked out, aiming for the surface but realised with a lurch of sickening horror that he was snagged in the ropes. Terror clutched at his heart as he twisted, struggling fruitlessly to free himself as he was pulled further under the water. The world was turned eerily quiet and slow around him, like he might already be half-dead. He thought of Muldoon for a moment as his chest screamed for air. He thought he understood what he meant now, about the peace the water could provide if one were to just give in. But there was no one waiting for John on the other side. Every person that had ever loved him was above him, probably fighting for their lives. They needed him. He mustered the last of his energy and twisted again, kicking wildly and at last felt himself pull free of the ropes. He pulled for the surface, moving with jerky motions that seemed to bring him far too slowly to the world above the waves. He emerged spluttering, horror still dragging at him as reality exploded into life around him. He gasped for breath, trying to blink the water from his eyes but unable to take in the carnage all around him. It was too bright, too loud to make sense of. But then there was a hand pulling him into a boat even as gun fire cracked around them.

He lay for a moment, gasping for air before forcing himself to sit up so he could look back at _The Walrus_ and its attacker. His heart leapt at the sound of cannon fire in the distance. Another ship, black sails visible even from this distance, heading for Rogers’ ship. John knew that Rogers would run, he was damaged already and would likely not survive another battle. Besides, the damage was done. _The Walrus_ wasn’t sinking, but it would take weeks to repair. Time they all knew they didn’t have. He wondered who it was. Could it be Rackham? He wasn't meant to be so far out and Vane was surely days away, but either was possible. But there was no time to discern anything amongst the chaos and he turned his attention to the Maroon beach in front of him. 

He sat with the other men, grim and silent, as they limped their way slowly to shore. He could see James pacing the waterline from a distance, and felt almost guilty for his sweeping relief at the sight of him. So many of the crew were dead and all he could think, over and over, was _thank God, thank God, thank God_. He knew the moment James saw him; he stilled completely and John thought he could see his shoulders relax. He allowed himself a small smile.

It being James, he didn’t wait for them to be on the sand, instead striding out into the surf and helping to pull them up the beach. He was reaching into the boat, gripping John tightly and pulling him out before they’d barely stopped moving. They clung to each other, eyes searching frantically for injuries; James had a small gash above his left eye, but otherwise he seemed unhurt.

“Where’s Thomas?” John gasped, still trying to catch his breath and clutching at James’ arm as he turned, looking up and down the beach, searching for a familiar figure.

James’ eyes were wild, catching the flames in the distance, as he looked back out to sea. “I don’t know, he’s not here.”

John felt cold right down to his toes. He froze, body simply unwilling to let him shake his head and confirm what they both already knew. His mouth worked uselessly for a moment. “They are...” he started, staring at James desperately before his words ran out entirely. He swallowed, reached to grab James’ other arm, as though he might fall without its support. “They are searching for stragglers,” he said, voice hardly above a whisper. “They’re looking for survivors in the water.”

James looked almost deathly pale, like his heart had already stopped beating and his body was just waiting for the final blow.

“I’ll-” John started, his eyes stinging uselessly. “I’ll find him. He must be-” He felt dazed. “Someone will have seen him, someone will know where he is.”

James was staring out at the wreckage, face like a mask of awful, awful terror.

“James,” he said, desperately, gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly to anchor them together. His heart was beating a strange rhythm in his chest. This couldn’t be happening. Thomas couldn’t be gone. He would not allow it. “James,” he said, voice loud and commanding. “Look at me.”

It took a moment, but eventually James turned his head, and his eyes were lost and unfocused when they met John’s.

“I’m going to find him,” he said. “We are going to find him. Do you understand me?”

There was another pause and then James nodded, he was moving sluggishly now, as though he might have taken a blow to the head. John felt similarly, as they staggered together towards the water and the few remaining men still coming back to land.

“Thomas,” John shouted, grabbing at the nearest man, pulling him close. “Where is he? Did he make it off?”

Paxton looked at John blankly, and then his face changed to a look of panic.

John’s hands gripped at his shirt, twisting the material. “Where is he?”

“He stayed back,” Paxton said. “He was helping some of the men, the wounded, off. I didn’t see him after.”

“And the men he was helping?” John shook him when he didn’t speak immediately.

He shook his head helplessly. “I didn’t see any of them again.”

John released him, turning to look for another boat, someone with a different vantage point. James was at his side, similarly engaged. He could see from the frantic way he was moving that he was finding no more answers than John.

He knew he was getting close to the end of the boats and bile was rising in his throat. He would have to take a boat back out. He would just need to search the wreckage. Thomas was a strong swimmer, there was a chance that he might still be out there. Might even be attempting to make it back to shore.

DeGroot was in the last boat and John had been able to see for five agonising minutes that Thomas wasn’t amongst the men with him. He was too distinctive, with his light hair and tall frame. None of the men could possibly be him even from a distance. The panic, grief, was rising up in John like a wave. It was like he was sailing right back into the storm he still half believed James to have conjured. He was drowning.

James was at his side, but John couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to see what expression might be on his face. He pushed himself forward, James didn’t follow and he was glad of that. John should be the one to hear the news, if it was going to happen. If Thomas was really gone he did not want anyone but him to tell James. He had to take this and then he could- His thoughts cut off into awful blankness after the thought of Thomas really being gone. He could see no future beyond that point, his mind stuttering uselessly before stopping.

“Thomas,” he gasped, gripping the side of the boat when he reached it. The surf was up to waist and he was unsteady on his feet. “Did you see him?”

DeGroot gave him a dark look and for a moment John was certain he was going to fall. DeGroot shook his head. “There were a lot of men in the water. We tried to get all that we could.”

John wanted to reach out, shake him, demand to know how he could have prioritised anyone over finding Thomas.

“The boats are all in?” he asked, when he found his voice.

DeGroot gave him another short nod. Everyone knew at least a part of what this news would mean to John and while he wasn’t sure DeGroot was capable of real compassion, this was probably as close as he could get.

His throat was too tight to speak. He turned to look helplessly at James. He was a little way back, but the content of their conversation must be clear. John could see even at this distance that his face was hard, eyes now focused and sharp.

John went to him, suddenly feeling untethered, drifting towards James as though pushed by the waves.

“He could-” he started, heart beating now almost sluggishly. Everything seemed strange and unreal, like he might have been pulled back under the water. “He’s a good swimmer.”

James’ throat worked, eyes not meeting John’s. He nodded. And turned and walked away up the beach leaving John alone in the lapping water.

John watched him go. Torn. He wanted, more than anything, to follow him. To allow themselves a moment of comfort, of grief. But he couldn’t. To do so would be to admit that this was real. That Thomas was dead and everything that John had been building, scrap by scrap was gone. And that the last thing he’d done was to not answer his confession of love.

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

He turned back to the sea. _The Walrus_ , somehow, was still floating, and Rogers’ ship had already mostly disappeared into the horizon. Perhaps he could go back out. He was exhausted, but he was fairly certain that he could get to the ship. There must be survivors. And if Rogers had given up picking them off… He needed to go back out.

He looked back at James’ retreating form and tried not to let grief take him. He wanted to go after him, but couldn’t bear to leave the water. He couldn’t give up. Not yet. And surely staying was better. He could help and he wouldn’t have to see the truth of what just happened in James’ face. He turned again to the men on the beach.

“We need to organise looking for survivors,” he said. “And we need to secure the beach. Take the boats up and form a defensive position.” His voice sounded a little strange, a little too brittle, but the men didn’t react any differently; they just got to work. DeGroot would have to handle the beach, he needed to get back out into the water.

The afternoon wore on with no sign of Thomas. Bodies were brought up the beach, ready to be buried. Every one of them landed a blow and grew the sick feeling in John’s stomach. He watched them, lifeless now where they’d been so animated the last time he saw them. He wondered if it would be worse to see him. If that would be what finally broke him. Or would it be worse to always wonder? To never be sure that he was gone. Or if Rogers had somehow taken him and he was alive and a captive again, with no one searching. He wasn’t sure he could bear that thought. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to stop looking. To stop hoping.

James didn’t approach them. John could see him a little way up the beach; he looked small and alone. John wished he could go to him. He wished he knew what to say. But it was too much. Seeing James would be seeing his own grief and he wasn’t sure that he could do it. What would happen to him after they had confronted it.

That James wouldn’t want him around seemed obvious. He wouldn’t have needed James’ reaction to this to be him leaving John alone to manage the men, to know that. Thomas had been the balance between then. He’d smoothed out their jagged edges, helping them find some equilibrium. Without him they were just too much. There were too many spaces between them that neither of them seemed quite able to bridge. But he didn’t want to hear it articulated from James. He didn’t want to know how long James might keep him around out of pity, or grief-induced forgetfulness. He would need to leave. Would need to make the decision for them both. Save James at least that.

It was getting dark when John slumped down finally at the fire the men had lit. A few men edged toward him, offering silent comfort. John was grateful for it, even if he couldn’t acknowledge it. He hung his head and let the blankness of grief overwhelm him.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat like that. The world turned black around him, he could hear sounds of men being treated for their wounds but wasn’t really listening, wasn’t taking any of it in. Perhaps that’s why it took a long moment for him to realise his name was being shouted.

“Silver!” someone called. “Someone get Silver!”

He pulled his head up with a great effort to find a commotion at the shore line. His heart did a strange barrel-roll in his chest and he struggled stiffly to his feet. It was hard to make out in the dark, but it seemed that three men were carrying something, a body, towards him. He had to root himself to the ground to keep himself from running in the opposite direction. It was Thomas. They had his body. _He didn’t- He couldn’t-_

“He’s alive,” someone said, close to him, hand resting on his arm for a moment. “He’s been shot, but he’s alive.”

“Alive,” he breathed and staggered forward. It seemed so far, like it took hours instead of seconds for him to reach the men.

“Thomas?” he asked, trying to make out anything in the gloom.

“He’s unconscious,” came the reply, it was Tyson. “Think he managed to swim back, mad bastard, we found him up the beach.”

John let out a huff of laughter that sounded only slightly tinged with hysteria. “Of course he did,” he said, reaching out to touch Thomas’ hair, smooth it back from where it was lying flat and wet against his forehead. He was warm. Alive. John struggled to keep up with the men as they brought him close to the fire.

“Where’s the wound?” he asked, everything was so dark, and Thomas’ clothes clung, making it hard to see anything.

“Can’t tell in the dark,” Tyson said. “But he swore worse than a drunk whore when we picked him up.”

John’s heart swelled. Thomas wasn’t prone to swearing but he could well imagine the moment. He should have been there. He should have been looking. What if the others had given up? What if Thomas had made it back only to die because they weren’t even trying to find him?

He turned to look at Tyson, held his eye for a long moment. “Thank you,” he said, packing as much conviction as he could into the words. “For finding him, for looking. I won’t forget this.”

Tyson nodded. “We got you, Silver,” he said. “He’s important to you, he’s important to us. We don’t give up on our own.”

“Not when they swim that far with a bullet in the shoulder,” Feltz said, at his side with a grin. “Should have him up on the rigging with that sort of muscle.”

John smiled, not sure how to process everything he was feeling. Then, with a jolt, he remembered that James wasn’t there. James didn’t know.

“Get him tended to,” he said. “I need to tell Flint.” It was so much harder than he’d imagined to turn and walk away. To leave Thomas when he’d just returned and was so injured, but he needed to find James. He needed to know.

He ran. The tiredness of just minutes before gone in his elation. He felt light, like he might be able to fly to James if needed. He didn’t need to be able to see him to know where James was. He hadn’t moved all day and it was like John was programmed to feel him, to be drawn to him without the need for sight.

“James,” he panted, taking great lungfuls of air. “James!”

There was the sense of motion and then there was a figure nearly colliding with him. James’ hands were on his arms, pulling him close, holding him steady.

“Thomas,” he gasped, “we found him. He’s hurt, but- _James_ , he’s alive.”

There was a pause, a beat of silence and then James was pulling him into a fierce hug. It was almost bruising but John did his best to hold him tightly in return. Ragged, hitching breath filled the air around them. John closed his eyes tight and clung to James, allowing himself a moment to feel the immense relief wash over him. They’d been so close, right on the knife-edge, of losing everything. But they hadn’t. They’d been given another chance.

This time he would take better care of it.

“Come,” John said, loath to pull back from where James’ face was buried in his neck, but he was already itching to get back. “Let’s go and see him.”

***

They made for the Maroon settlement. John couldn't remember the journey there when he tried later. His entire focus seemed to be with Thomas and James, so quiet and grim respectively at his side. James left only to retrieve the treasure - ready to give to Teach if he decided to play his part. The treasure was deposited in Thomas’ room, that being the safest place for it; no one with sense would have dared to interrupt James and John's silent vigil at his bedside.

Thomas started running a fever soon after they arrived. It was painful to watch him as he grew worse, to see the rusty stains on his clothes and the way his face screwed tight with pain and delirium. John was reminded of when they’d first met; it felt so different to watch him fight through the fever - to want to touch and comfort him and know there was nothing he could do. It hurt to look at him, but somehow it hurt more to watch James try and remain stoic as they sat by his bedside. They both knew that they might still lose him and the thought hung like a physical force between them. They'd both seen plenty of people die from a lot less. 

Madi sent a quiet, thoughtful looking man to look him over. The shot had been clean at least, the bullet entering and leaving his body through his shoulder. It meant there was no need to dig through muscle for metal scraps at least. John wasn’t sure how James would have reacted to that. He tried not to think of it. Anything with tables, alcohol and knives tended to give him the most unpleasant of flashbacks. And he couldn’t afford to lose himself. He needed to plan. The man didn't stay long, inspecting the wound and instructing them to keep him drinking water as much as they were able. James hardly seemed to hear him and John forced himself to nod, to smile and thank him. They descended back into silence the moment they were alone. 

The Spanish were coming, according to Madi's scouts, in such great numbers that even with the remaining forces on Nassau and Teach's potential support, it would be almost impossible to win a fight. Nassau might still be lost and Thomas might have died for nothing at all. The thought kept circling darkly in John's head over and over as he sat watching Thomas fight a battle he was powerless to help him win.

He wondered if he could convince James to just take Thomas and leave with him. But he knew, without even voicing it, that James would never agree. And even if by some miracle he did, it likely wouldn't matter. Rogers had tried to remove them ahead of the battle for good reason. James was by far the best tactician on the island and even if they weren't there physically, they would be a rallying point for the defences - their names were all that was needed. It likely meant that Rogers wouldn’t, couldn’t, stop until he was taken care of. Captain Flint and Long John Silver needed to be eliminated - ideally in as public a manner as possible.

Then there was Thomas. While they still had no way of knowing if it was Rogers that had uncovered what happened to him after he was taken to Bethlam, John was more convinced than ever that it must have been him. Rogers’ plan was too aligned to Thomas’; he surely must have looked into whatever happened to him after his plans in London had fallen apart. Perhaps he’d even spoken to Ashe, tried to better understand the strengths and weaknesses of the original plan, it was what John would do. They didn’t know for sure what Ashe knew about Thomas’ whereabouts. But it was entirely possible, with his connection to Savannah, that it was Ashe that had arranged to have Thomas sent there.

That he had kept this knowledge from James and Mrs Barlow even at the end was another mark against a man John would never be able to seek vengeance against.

John pondered these facts, as he watched Thomas become sicker, and James become harder and angrier. The fight was coming to them so fast that they weren't going to have time to properly plan for it. He paced back and forth through the settlement when he could no longer stand to sit beside Thomas. Everything in him felt taught, like a string that was wound too tight, ready to snap at any moment. But being away from Thomas seemed worse than being with him and he ended up back there after only a few minutes, drawn almost despite himself.

James left soon after John returned without a word. John tried not to feel the sting of his silence. He couldn’t imagine what he must feeling, John wasn’t sure he would be strong enough to survive this feeling once but for James this was the second time through. If silence and his own thoughts were what he needed, John would not begrudge him them. 

When James eventually came back his face stormy as he took the seat on the other side of the bed. John tried not fidget under the oppressive silence. He wanted to speak, but there seemed nothing he could say that wouldn't cause some disagreement or be pointing out the obvious. 

The silence stretched long before James finally broke it. His voice was hard, distant. Like before Thomas had come back. It made John ache in an entirely new way. “The men are preparing to retrieve _The Walrus_. I’m not sure we have time to repair her; you’ll need to ask the Princess for passage for us back to Nassau.”

John looked at him over where he was resting his head on his clasped hands. He did nothing to hide the disbelief he felt at James’ first words since they’d found Thomas. He’d not thought about where James had disappeared to, but would never have even considered that it was to make battle plans. “Does that really matter at the moment?” 

It was the wrong play - he should have tried to deescalate the situation, reacting with anger only ever made James' own temper rise to meet him. But John simply didn't have the patience for it. There was nothing left in him other than gnawing, awful fear. It made him want to lash out, to wound in the same way he was. It wouldn't help. He _knew_ it wouldn't help, but he was powerless to stop.

James looked away from John to Thomas’ still form, his face hardening even further. “It still matters,” he said. “It’s all that matters at the moment.”

“He might be dying!” John shouted, gesturing furiously. His agitation rose up from his chest and crested over them both. This fight was always going to happen eventually. The war against England was simply a matter they didn't agree on, or at least, they didn't agree on its level importance. There was always going to be a clash when John reached the limit of what he could give - that limit simply didn't exist for James and so this divergence of intent was inevitable. Perhaps if Thomas had been there he could have steered them away from the rocks, mediated the fallout to avoid catastrophe. But he wasn't and the fear was too great and the stakes too high for either of them to back down. It felt a little like John was watching from outside his own body, seeing the fragile relationship they had built start to fracture and split apart down a fault line that they'd both always known was there but had chosen to ignore. 

He thought for a moment that he saw a crack in James' resolve, but it was gone in a moment. “There’s nothing I can do for him,” he said. “We can’t let this fall apart now, John, not if he’s…” His voice cracked and he broke off, gritting his teeth.

“Have you really learnt nothing?” John said, voice rising. “After last time, after you already lost him once, you’re just going to carry on?”

“It’s what he wants!” James snapped. “He gave himself for this, and I will not see it fall apart because he can’t be part of it currently.” He took a breath, clearly trying to calm himself. When he spoke again his voice was gentler. “He’ll thank us when he’s awake.”

“And if he doesn’t?” John asked, unable to keep the sneer off his face. “You’re just going to get yourself killed to achieve exactly nothing?”

“If he-” he cut himself off again, unable to even articulate the thought. “If anything happens, then I will make sure he is avenged.”

John was so angry that for a moment he couldn’t formulate any words at all. He stood, ready to leave, but paused at the door to turn back to James. “This is madness,” he said, eventually, when he was sure he could trust his voice not to break with the frustration burning in his chest. “This is not what he would want.”

He left without another word. 

***

The tension between them only seemed to grow over the following days. With every hour Thomas didn't wake, John's heart grew heavier and James seemed to retreat further away from him. James split his time between Thomas' side and overseeing the retrieval of _The Walrus_. It would take weeks to repair, but the men seemed grateful for something to occupy them and The Queen even provided materials and additional men. John could barely stand to look at it. He simply could not believe that James was truly planning on going back into the war. 

They hardly spoke. The conversation seemed to end at the same point whenever they tried, no matter how hard John promised himself he would not lose his temper, that he would try and reason with James, or would not even talk of it at all. 

"What are you planning?" John snapped days later, face twisted with the anger that seemed to simmer constantly under his skin. "If Thomas wakes, are you to drag him right back aboard and sail him into another battle? Or are you going to leave him to wait for us to die and live out the rest of his life alone?" 

"You have never understood why we fight," James snapped. "You may be able to walk away as though it is nothing, but I cannot. Thomas cannot." 

"How do you _know_ that?" John near-shouted, frustration getting the better of him. "I keep asking and you have no answer because the truth is you _don't know_!" 

James stood abruptly, furious-seeming and hissed, “I think I know better what he would want.”

“Would you?” John spat, stepping around the bottom of the bed to get closer, his heart hammering in his chest. “Have you asked him, recently? Have you asked anyone what they want from this?”

“Thomas was the one that started it, he gave everything for this.”

“No!” John snapped, words forming to give voice to things that he hadn't even been aware of feeling before that very moment. “Everything was taken from him and he barely survived, he was hardly back to himself when he came back to you. He didn’t even know if he was real and you fed him your stories about Nassau and this fucking war. What did you expect him to do? What choice did you give him? What choice do you ever give anyone?”

James’ face flickered as John spoke, emotions passing too quickly to assess. But he landed on fury. He took a step closer. They were nearly nose to nose but neither backed away. “Do not think,” he hissed, voice low, “that because you have known him for a few months that you understand him. Do not think that because you’ve shared our bed, that you understand us. I will not let what we’ve worked for fall away now because you are blinded by fear. I will see it through, and I will do it with or without you.”

The words hurt, as they were no doubt intended to. This was always how they'd been with each other, right from the start; they pushed and pushed, both trying to find the limit of what the other could take, trying to elicit a reaction - whether good or bad often didn't seem to matter as long as it was strong, as long as it made the spark between them flare. John had thought they'd found an equilibrium since they'd turned that passion into a partnership. It had been working so well, when they were united there was nothing they couldn't achieve. When they were of one mind they were so close there was no daylight to be found between them. When they were not it always somehow ended in the same place: a mad dive toward mutual destruction, like they didn't know how else to love one another. It was fire and passion and if they couldn't channel it correctly it burnt them. He paused, swallowed heavily, attempting to gather himself. None of what James said surprised him. None of it was anything he hadn’t thought himself. But hearing it from James was searing. It was as though he could feel where they'd struck him like a physical force, splintering them clean in two. “Very well,” he said, once he managed to regain his control so his voice barely shook. “I shall leave it to your superior knowledge.”

He stalked out of the room, breathing heavy as though he'd been running. Behind the pain at James' words he could feel cold fear crawling up his spine. He’d only seen James like that once before, after Charles Town, and it had taken a storm, nearly dying of starvation and being imprisoned to even slow him down. If Thomas died - perhaps even if he didn’t - there would be no stopping him. It felt as though he’d already lost both of them. Thomas was near dying and James was retreating into Flint. It had been so long since John had seen him do that he’d forgotten the ferocity of it, forgotten how much he hated it. James seemed more out of reach than he ever had and it hurt more than John thought possible. It made thinking impossible. 

Madi found him, still pacing outside, as the sky was beginning to grow dark. “You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” he said, voice flat. He wasn’t sure if he could manage anything, the thought of food turned his stomach.

“I am,” she said, “and you will keep me company.”

He wanted to refuse, but there was little point. They would likely need her help soon and there was no sense in upsetting her. She plated some food for him once they were in her rooms, bread and fruit that he ignored.

“They say he will probably be fine,” she said, voice low.

John looked at her and pushed, hard, down on his anger. Many people had said that since they'd recovered him. Placating and well-meaning but ultimately useless; they didn’t know any better than John if he would live, if John would ever get to see his eyes open again. Would ever get to tell him that loved him, or if he'd have to live with the regret of being too cowardly to say the words when he had the chance for the rest of his days. He said nothing.

“You love him.”

John swallowed and looked away. But found it easier to nod than he’d expected.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her voice was level and John could hear no disgust or displeasure in it.

He nodded again, swallowing against the tightness in his throat.

“What are you going to do?”

He blinked, surprised at the question. “What do you mean?”

“You’re planning,” she said.

“I don’t know,” he said, which was true. There seemed to be no good way out, only an array of equally terrible decisions to make. “This fight, the Spanish, I don’t think we can win it.”

Madi didn’t answer. Her face was tight with frustration. She didn’t like being left out of this anymore than John liked being in it. But she knew he was right; if she saw a way forward for them, she would say so. They looked away from each other, the tension in the air tight with grief and frustration.

“I don’t want them to die,” he said, eventually. It was such a stupid thing to say. Of course he didn’t. But it was the first time he’d said it aloud. “But they’re going to. If Thomas doesn’t wake up, that will be it. James won’t- He’ll kill himself trying to avenge him within the week. I can’t-” He bit his words off, shaking his head, hating showing his weakness. But he couldn’t keep his emotions in check. It was too much, everything in him ached and he just wanted to stop the sickly feeling of terror that had only been building over the last few days until he felt almost overrun with it.

Madi frowned. “But, you’ll be here, John, you have always had his ear. You can talk him into sense, if it comes to it.”

“No,” he said, slumping down further in his chair. “You don’t understand, there is no James, not without him.”

“Then we hope he wakes.”

He nodded.

“Then you can be united,” she said, eyeing him steadily. He could see the fire in her eyes. He remembered it well. It was the same look he saw in James’ eyes, Thomas’ too when they talked of the war against England. It scared him as much as the night he’d left all those months ago. He hadn’t thought he could ever have more to lose than he had that night. Leaving Madi and Flint had been the worst thing he could think of. It was so, so much worse now.

John shook his head, his real fear bubbling to the surface. “It won’t matter,” he said. “If he lives this time, it makes no difference; they won’t stop. They’ll keep going until they’re both dead. I’m going to have to watch them die. Unless I get lucky enough to die first.”

“John,” she said, low and almost scolding. “They’ve made their choice. They want to be here.”

She knew, John realised, she knew the plan that was slowly starting to form in his mind. It hadn’t crystalised, but he’d known the moment he saw her conviction what he had to do. There was really only one way that he would be able to save them. Only one way to ensure they lived. The thought turned over and over in his mind, more solid by the second.

“You will lose them anyway,” Madi said, her voice suddenly hard. “John, look at me. Whatever plan just occurred to you, I beseech you to reconsider it.”

He flicked his eyes to her. She couldn’t know what he was planning, not really. “I’m not planning anything,” he said, low and hard. “If there was some way that I could help them, I would have done it long ago. Before Thomas was shot and nearly drowned.”

“They will not thank you for it,” she said, unperturbed by his dismissal.

She was wrong, though. They wouldn’t just be displeased, if he did what he was considering, they would hate him. They would cast him out and he’d never see them again. But they would be alive, the desperate, sad voice in his head repeated, over and over. _They will be alive to hate you._

“Thank you,” John said, pushing back from the table. “I appreciate both your time and counsel. As ever.”

Madi looked at him. “I won’t be able to protect you,” she said.

John smiled, quick and thin. “I won’t need it.” _I won’t want protection from them even if you could give it, I won't deserve it._ “I shall see you in the morning,” he said, keeping his voice level and sincere. “Good night, Madi.”

He didn’t wait for her reply.

****

Thomas’ room was dark, too hot, but cooler than outside. It surprised him to find James had left him alone, but it hardened his resolve to continue with his plan. James was so consumed with continuing to fight that Thomas was here all alone. 

John watched him, the shallow rise and fall of his chest and tried to think. It wasn’t much of a plan. But it was something. There was hope in it. He wished, absurdly, that he could talk to Thomas about it, watch as he considered it, pulled it apart as he examined it for flaws. He wanted them to bring it to James together, watch as his lips thinned and he pretended not to be moved by their united arguments. He wanted them to laugh and tease as they worked it out, built it into something unsinkable. He wanted them to fall into a tired and satisfied heap once it was done.

He wanted Thomas to wake and for none of this to be real.

John never got what he wanted. It was why he’d long ago decided not to want anything at all. It always hurt too much.

He took a breath. The plan he had would have to do. The treasure was here, easily taken, and without it the alliance between the pirates would be no more. They could all walk away. If he could just get Billy onside there was a real chance that the whole fight could be avoided; and if any one of them would not want this fight with the Spanish it would be him. Together they could hide the treasure, use it and their own influence over Nassau to convince Rogers that a fight wasn’t needed. Rackham might even be brought in at that point. With no treasure, there was no Teach, leaving only Vane with a ship and means to mount any sort of defence. The whole thing could be over.

Then, the treasure might be leveraged to convince Rogers to let them walk away. They would never be allowed back to Nassau, but really, that seemed like such a small price in the grand scheme of things. It was a hope. Let Rogers have the island, see if he could hold it any longer than all the Governors before him. Surely once he had what he'd been so desperate to achieve, he would be more amenable to letting them leave. The treasure alone would surely be ample reason to consider it. It was a small hope, but he had to try.

He tried to steel himself but found his feet wouldn’t move him from his spot over Thomas’ bed. He took a deep breath, let it out. He watched Thomas’ sleeping face and finally allowed himself the weakness of saying the words that had been building in his chest for months. He leant forward, so his lips were almost touching his forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered. The words hurt, tearing at his throat, ripping a hole in his chest, ragged and messy. He had known saying them would feel like that, even if he hadn’t understood quite why. He lingered, too long, wanting to press his lips to his forehead again. But he’d delayed too long already. He pulled back and went to the chest.

“John?” Thomas’ voice was low, barely a croak.

John froze, hand on the chest. His heart now speeding in his chest, jumping painfully against his ribcage. Joy rose in his chest, relief and terror all warring for dominance. It felt like months since he’d heard that voice, not hours. How had James survived ten years? His chest throbbed painfully with grief. He wanted, all of him wanted, to go to him. He turned to look at him, feeling the way his heart was thudding dully. Thomas looked pale and tired, and so awfully fragile it hurt to look at him.

“John?” he asked again. “What’s happening?”

“Go to sleep,” he managed, pushing the words up roughly. He didn’t recognise his own voice. “You need to rest.”

“Are you going somewhere?” Thomas sounded hurt, bordering on distressed. The sound was like a heavy blow. But not the first John had endured even that day. How he knew that John was preparing to leave from one look John didn't know. Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised him, Thomas had always managed to see right through to the core of him. 

“I’ll-” he started, and had to swallow passed the lump in his throat. “I’ll be back. Thomas, this isn’t- I’m coming back.”

Thomas looked at him, eyes wide. “Don’t.”

He couldn’t know what John was planning. There was no way. But he knew enough. John had given himself away. He stared back at Thomas, unable to speak.

There was too much he wanted to say. Explanations. Excuses. Declarations. So many things he’d never told him. Perhaps would never be allowed to say, now. There was too much to say and not enough time.

He strode across the room, feet carrying him forward automatically. He bent and dropped a fierce kiss to his forehead. He was too hot, but he leant into the kiss. It broke something possibly vital in John’s chest.

“Sorry.” The word was raggeded and so quiet it was possible that Thomas didn’t hear it. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t.

He turned again, striding to the chest and lifting it with some difficulty.

“John!”

He shut the door on the call and was gone.

_TBC_


	11. Chapter 11

James didn’t believe it when Thomas told him. 

_He’s gone, James_. 

The words seemed to come slow, as though reaching him through water. He blinked, shaking his head in a denial. Thomas was mistaken or confused; he'd been unconscious, how could he possibly know something that James didn't? John had been angry when he last saw him, but perhaps he just needed some space, that didn't mean-

But then he realised the treasure was gone and the truth settled over him cold and irrefutable. John had left them. Not just that. He’d _betrayed_ them. The thought spun around his head unable to find a hold for long moments of stunned silence.

He'd been so euphoric just moments before, his relief that Thomas was awake making his knees give out the moment he’d managed to stagger to his room. He’d fallen at the side of his bed, clutching his hand and letting tears that he’d refused to give into until that moment fall. 

Thomas had held him, arms not having the strength he was used to, but reassuringly alive and warm, all the same. They’d stayed like that until James could pull himself together long enough to take a breath. Then Thomas had started speaking, halting and ragged. Watching the expression on Thomas’ face as he told him what he’d seen, what he suspected, was almost as awful as the news itself. He looked wrecked. He stumbled over his words, something Thomas rarely did, his face draining of what little colour it had. He was still weak from the fever and every word seemed to hurt him. James wanted to tell him to stop, but found himself unable to speak. He sat as a silent witness as Thomas talked, eyes too bright with lingering fever.

He still didn’t have any words for him when he was finished. They sat close, strained silence wrapped around them. His mind was too cluttered and tangled to speak. Calculations ran through his head rapidly. It wasn’t something he knew how not to do, not any more. It didn’t matter how personal the tragedy, some part of him couldn’t help but assess what it meant for the wider plan, how it affected strategy. Counter-plans formed rapidly and were discarded equally quickly. 

They had been left with no way to convince Teach to join them. They had no bargaining chips at all. It seemed incredibly unlikely that he would join them when the treasure he had been promised turned out to be dependent on them taking Nassau and tracking down a missing crew member. He knew that he would never agree to such a plan from someone he disliked as much as Teach disliked him, so there was no point in assuming Teach would feel differently. Even the Maroons might no longer be willing to give aid without anything to offer them with any certainty. The alliance would fall apart. Vane would likely have no option but to go with Teach or die at his hands. The Spanish fleet was huge and James didn’t even have a ship. He could see no way forward. He was still trying to formulate some response when Madi arrived demanding to speak to them. 

James bade her enter, his voice tired and hoarse. 

She swept into the room and looked around, head held high, taking in James silent and watchful and Thomas who was struggling to rise from the bed. 

“He did it on your account,” she said by way of an opening, her voice was calm and strong. 

“What, exactly, is it that he’s done?” James asked, voice low, dangerous. The idea that John had had conspirators had occurred to him. It made sense he would go to her of almost anyone. The thought stung in unexpected ways. 

Madi didn’t respond to the tone, but the guards that went with her everywhere tensed, drawing closer to her. She held his gaze, steady and unmoved by him. She had been a good match for John. “I do not know,” she said. “But whatever betrayal you think he has enacted, I know it was done to save you both.” 

James shook his head. “We did not want this,” he said, bewilderment adding to the simmering anger that bubbled under the surface of his skin. How could this have happened? How had he not seen it coming? He’d invited John into their bed. Thomas had told him loved him. And John had run. Again. It was all so obvious now. This outcome was always where they were headed, right from the very start. He should have known that, been less surprised and more prepared. He was a fool. 

“Do you know where he’s gone?” Thomas’ voice was weak, he looked pale, sweat beading at his forehead. He’d managed to stagger from the bed and was trying to right his clothes, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. He looked ready to fall down. James hands itched to go to him, offer him support, but he knew the gesture would be unwelcome in front of the princess and her guards. 

Madi looked at Thomas, her face softening a little at his obvious distress. “He did not detail any plans to me,” she said. James believed her; she was smart enough to know there was little chance of them being able to catch John now and lying to them would damage a relationship that Maroon would not want to outright sour. Besides, it didn't matter what she knew or didn't, because James had known the moment Thomas told him John had taken the treasure and run where he was going. 

“He’s gone to Rogers,” he said. It felt better to say it out loud. It was the only logical conclusion - Madi had likely worked it out as well. It was possible, but unlikely, he’d taken the treasure and just run to start a new life somewhere. But James didn’t believe that. It wasn’t John’s style. Their last conversation hung heavy and ominous before him; it seemed so clear now what the outcome was going to be he couldn't believe he hadn't even considered it. He should have, of course, perhaps he would have if he hadn’t been so worried about Thomas or if he hadn’t been blinded by his feelings for John. It was like London all over again. He swallowed. “He wanted to destroy the alliance, bring us to our knees so we couldn’t keep fighting. He must have taken the treasure to him. Perhaps he means to bargain some pardon with it.”

Thomas made a small, pained noise. James’ hands twitched, trying to reach for him without his permission. He pulled them tight to himself. Neither of them could afford to show weakness in front of Madi, not now. 

“We need to get word to Rackham,” he said, trying to straighten his spine, look as unconcerned as possible. “Vane too. Perhaps they will be able to intercept one or both of them before it’s too late.” 

Madi agreed to send out messengers, heading for Nassau and the direction they knew Vane had sailed. There was little hope, really, but there was nothing else to do. Thomas slumped, nearly falling the moment she left them alone. James rushed to his side, catching him and taking his weight. 

“You need to rest,” he said, voice tight and angry sounding. He hated that he wasn’t able to better control his tone. Truly, Thomas was the only person he didn’t feel anger at. But he didn’t have any other outlet for the fear that clutched at his chest painfully. Terror swelled at how weak he still seemed and James just wanted him to rest, to sleep and not have to deal with more life and death decisions. But there was no hope of it and he felt impotent rage swirl under his skin. He balled his fists tightly after he had helped him into the bed. He wanted to fuss with the thin blanket but forced himself to remain still. 

Thomas didn’t react to his tone. He just smiled tightly at him. His eyes were already dropping but he was clearly fighting himself to remain alert. “We have to get him back,” he said, grabbing James’ hand. 

He shook his head. “He’s gone, Thomas,” he said. He wasn't surprised at the sentiment; believing in impossible things was what Thomas did. But James was not going to leave him with any illusions about its likelihood of becoming reality, no matter how much they both might want it to. “What makes you think he wants to come back?”

"Don’t do that,” he said, firm, despite his obvious pain and exhaustion. “Don’t rewrite what happened these last weeks. He’s done something…” He trailed off. “He’s betrayed our trust, but I do not believe it was because he wishes us any ill.” 

“The reasons don’t matter,” he replied, looking away. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to even think about it. It hurt. Worse than the last time, and not only because he’d let himself get so close to him, but because he’d _known_. He’d seen the danger and done nothing. Worse than nothing, he'd overridden his own better instincts and led them to ruin. Again. 

“You don’t believe that any more than I do,” he said, not letting go of James’ hand. He paused, watching James intently. “The reasons always matter, James, sometimes they're all that does. We have to wait. We need to understand what his plan is before we do anything rash.” 

James looked back at him and found he didn't have the will to argue with him. He leant forward and kissed him softly instead. “I’m so glad you’re awake,” he said.

Thomas smiled at him, apparently willing to accept James' side-stepping the conversation for the time being. “I’m sorry I frightened you.” 

James’ face contorted, like he might be about to cry again. He shook his head, trying to keep the tears at bay, by forcing a smile. It seemed pointless to be so upset now that Thomas was awake, was apparently going to be fine. The fact the terror of the last few days clung to him like grasping hands, wanting to pull him down, didn't mean he had to let them. “Sleep,” he whispered, when he thought he had control enough over himself. 

“Will you stay?” Thomas sounded so uncertain, so worried, that James couldn’t have denied him even if he’d wanted to. 

There wasn’t room for them both on the narrow bed so he settled, uncomfortable and stiff, in the chair at his side. Thomas gripped his hand tight. Even when he fell into what appeared to be a very fitful sleep, he hardly loosened his hold on James; he found himself grateful for it. He felt like he might fly apart at any moment without the grounding influence of Thomas' hand in his own. 

He ran through everything over and over, trying and failing to plan. Trying and failing to see what he’d missed, how he’d managed to let himself believe that John had changed, that what had been between them would mean something to him. Nothing came to him. He was compromised by how personal the betrayal was and could hardly form any coherent thoughts through the fog of anger and worry in his mind. His eyes drifted to Thomas, tried to concentrate on the steady rise and fall of his chest, just to give himself some respite from the circular thoughts. That he was still with him was a miracle. Perhaps wishing for more had been folly all along. He should have taken him and run that first night he had returned. He shouldn't have stayed to fight this apparently cursed war. 

It was too late for those thoughts. They were too tangled to leave now; there was nothing left but to chart a course forward. He just wished he knew which direction they ought to go. 

***

Over the coming days James found more evidence of what John had done, how deep the betrayal went. He’d taken some men, men that were somehow more loyal to him than their captain: Tom Morgan and a couple of others. No one seemed sure where they were going, but there was talk that they were heading for Billy. That almost more than the treasure stung. That John would go to someone that so clearly wanted James dead before coming to him left him feeling almost winded. Their last argument played over and over in James' head. If he had been more clear headed, he could have stopped John from leaving. If he had only stopped to consider what he knew - and didn't know - about him. His plan was so transparent in retrospect. He thought back to their sparring sessions, John's inability to talk about what had shaped him, his almost fanatical desire to throw off the wrong that must have been done to him and move forward as though not acknowledging it was the same as it not affecting him. John didn't deal with his feelings - he ran. James knew that, had perhaps helped pushed him to it with his instance on knowing more than John was willing to share and by what he'd said the night he left.

He had meant it at the time, perhaps he even still stood by the sentiment. But he did regret his implication that they didn't want John, didn't _need_ him, like they wanted and needed each other. He should have spoken in a more reasoned manner. Thomas would never have let winning the argument mean diminishing what they had between them. It likely would not have changed the outcome; John was probably always going to run, was always going to assume that he alone knew what was best for them and act accordingly. But, that did not stop James from wishing he had found a better way to speak his mind, rather than letting his frustration boil over.

Thomas had closed his eyes and let out a slow breath when James had confessed to him that he and John had fought just before he left. He reached out his hand and placed it over James'. "John made his own decision," he said, voice low and sad. "Do not carry this with you; you were not to know what was to come of it. We had both tried to show him our feelings. I fear-" he cut off for a moment, lips pressed tight. "I am not sure John truly knows how to be loved." 

"I know it was him," James said, firm and truthful. "I am under no illusion that anything I could have done would have stopped him from pursuing his own goal in this. I regret that I did not see it coming, that I didn't stop him from causing such damage to not only our partnership, but to the fight against England. I would see him repent for that, at least." 

Thomas squeezed his hand. "We have to get him back," he said again, words that he'd repeated often over the last few days. It was as though he expected everything to be reset if they could just be together again. James wasn't sure if he envied or pitied him for that thought. "I would hear from him why he did this before we make any assumptions." 

James nodded, though he didn't agree. They both knew John well enough to understand his motivations, but that was not an argument they needed to have. 

Two days later they got word that John had been taken prisoner by Rogers. Thomas sank into the nearest chair when they got the news, face deathly pale. James held himself tight, tried to not let the horror he felt flooding through him show on his face. The foreboding feeling that everything was coming to its inevitable and terrible end crested suddenly, making James feel for a moment like he was drowning. He couldn't breathe, the air catching in his chest painfully. It took him long moments to recover himself before he was able to speak. He supposed that he should be grateful that at least this suggested there was no secret alliance between Rogers and John, but the thought was of little comfort. 

The men wanted to mount a rescue immediately. Everyone knew what Rogers did to the prisoners on his ships and none wanted to leave John to that fate. There was little James could could do to dissuade them of the need to rescue John. Like the last time John had left, he was unable to tell them of his betrayal. There was no merit in it - it would likely further split the crew's loyalty and dent their belief in the cause. But it made explaining why an immediate rescue couldn't be mounted difficult. Despite his best reassurances it was in hand, he could see the unease in the men. They didn't like being in Maroon after their first stay there and tensions were high. He needed to do something soon or he might lose them. He needed to make a plan that would take them off of Maroon and put them back into the fight. He just wasn't sure what it ought to be. The most sensible cause was to attempt to find Vane and Teach, hope they might find some way to unite. John would likely be dead before they found them, but it was the action most likely to keep them in the fight. 

“I can’t stop thinking about what they might be doing to him,” Thomas said, voice low, when they were finally left alone.

James turned to look at him, hands balling at his sides, but he couldn't form any words. He had been tiptoeing around the thought in his own head since the news arrived. He knew if he looked directly at it, he wouldn't be able to think of anything else. 

“I know you’re angry at him, but, I can’t-” Thomas began, apparently misreading James' silence for indifference.

“Stop it,” he snapped. He couldn't bear to hear the words, nor the broken way Thomas was going to say them. “We know nothing. John might be perfectly fine.” The words sounded flimsy and hallow. 

“Do you know what they say Rogers does to his prisoners?” Thomas asked, voice shaking slightly, though it was clear he was trying not to let his emotions show. 

“Yes,” he said, voice tight. He felt trapped by terrible decisions on all sides. He took a breath to give voice to the decision that he knew he was going to make since the word first arrived of John's capture. It wouldn't work. None of the plans he'd conceived of were likely to, but there was little choice. “We can go...” he started, heart beginning to race before he trailed off at the look on Thomas' face. He swallowed and tried again. “We will just have to go and get him back from Rogers.” There was no point in pretending that he would make any other decision. For all that John had betrayed them, for all that James’ and Thomas’ feelings were not returned, there was no part of them that would let John be killed by a man like Rogers. James’ body ached with the desire to go to him. He hated himself for still feeling it, but he didn't know how to stop. They simply wouldn’t be able to live with themselves if they didn’t at least try. After London, after not attempting to rescue Thomas from Bethlem, he couldn’t - wouldn’t - make the same mistake again 

“We have no ship,” Thomas said, slowly, as though unsure if James realised the limitations he currently faced. “We lost the last battle with Rogers and we had more men then. Even if we could win, he would kill John rather than give him up. I know men like him. He won’t give up.” 

James heart sank. He didn't want to go against Thomas' wishes, but he was also not going to be able to stand by while Rogers took some form of petty revenge out on John. “I won’t let him-”

“I know,” Thomas said, cutting him off roughly and looking away. He looked sad, a little defeated and James hated that more than anything. But then Thomas took another breath and turned to face James. He looked resolute, if a still a little pale. He swallowed and nodded, caught and held Janes’ eye. “We have to try.” 

James wanted to offer some comfort, but he simply had none to offer. It was clear there was little chance they would succeed. So instead he held Thomas' eye and nodded, in return. This was a decision they had made together and they would see it through, to whatever end. He flexed his hands uselessly at his sides, wishing there was some other way forward.

"I'll get him back," he said, the words much more certain that he felt.

Thomas smiled in return. It was small, a little twisted with the pain that he was still in, but it warmed James right through. Thomas believed him. Somehow, through all his mistakes and missteps he still had Thomas' belief. He nodded again before leaning in to kiss him. He tried to offer his own smile when he pulled back, but wasn't sure how reassuring it was.

He found no shortage of volunteers willing to die to retrieve John. It was easy enough to spin a story that John had been off enacting a daring act of bravery meant to save them all that had gone wrong. The men wanted to believe it, so there was little chance they wouldn’t. 

They had barely got underway when word reached him that Rackham was soon to arrive. James knew immediately that he must have already been on his way to have reached them so soon. Somehow James knew that whatever tidings he was bringing were not likely to be welcome.

They met on the beach, where he and the crew were preparing to retrieve _The Walrus_ with the help of the Maroons. They nodded in greeting, not bothering with small talk as they made their way to the camp. 

The Queen allowed them use of a room and Thomas arrived, looking only a little like he might be about to fall down, a few moments later. They sat across from each other, the silence heavy. Rackham's face seemed to be one giant bruise, his lip cut and swollen. James eyed him, realising that he wasn't the only captain to have faced a difficult time since they'd left Nassau.

James looked at Thomas who nodded, just slightly. He spoke first, wanting to get the worst of it over with. There was no point in keeping anything from Rackham, not when James was likely going to need his help in stopping Rogers. 

Rackham took the news with a grace that James might have been surprised at, until he began to speak. “Well,” he said, raising his eyebrows in a way that made James want to beat him silly. “It’s good that while you’ve been busy losing your ship and all the collateral we still had, that I was busy coming up with an alternative plan.” 

Thomas reached a hand out under the table and touched James’ knee lightly, just for a moment. It stilled the fury just long enough for him to speak. “Go on. Make it fast, I’ve had a long week and am in no mood for you particular bullshit, Rackham.” 

Rackham smiled thinly. “Max and Anne have been to Philadelphia.” 

He frowned, surprised. “To Eleanor?” 

Rackahm bowed his head in agreement. “Max hoped to entreat Eleanor to send more help,” he smiled again, amused at some private joke. “She had a counter offer.”

“Which was?” Thomas asked, leaning forward. 

“A way that we might keep Nassau open for business, keep the authorities away and keep trading. But without the need for a continuous war.” He looked at them, something like uncertainty in his face that made James tense. “It even takes care of our friend, the would-be Governor.” He curled his lip at the mention of Rogers; Rackham still apparently not over his near-hanging at his hands. 

“Right,” James said, waiting for the conclusion. Rackham was building to something; it seemed too good to be true and that almost certainly meant that it was. “And?” 

“I even believe I can get John Silver back for you, since you were so careless as to lose him.” 

James’ hand curled into a fist at the mention of John. 

“Why don’t you skip to the part you clearly don’t think that we will like, Mr Rackham?” Thomas asked, reasonable and cool. James watched him, wondering if anyone else would be able to see how carefully he was holding himself together. He was clearly in pain, clearly worried and exhausted. But he was strong, stronger than James. He didn’t need anger to fuel him through this. He did it with the honest belief that he could do the right thing. That he would find a way to enact it. He loved him so fiercely in that moment there was little room for anything else. 

Rackham sighed, as though disappointed that his theatrics were being curtailed. “They have offered us a business opportunity. We install a new power, a respectable figure that England can accept, that can pay taxes and keep Nassau trading.” 

“How does that help us?” James growled. 

“Because,” he said, smiling patronisingly at them, “that person will know that piracy should be allowed to continue, without their explicit sanction of course, because it does the same thing it does everywhere else-”

“It drives up profits for everyone,” Thomas finished for him, clearly annoying Rackham again. It was the only pleasing thing about the moment. 

James sighed. “So, we will be consigned to the shadows? Forced to scrape out a living on the fringes of our own fucking island while England continues to grow fat on our work.” 

Rackham looked at him, sharp and clearly annoyed. So he knew this. He knew it but had already made his decision. “We are not overrun with better ideas, Flint,” he snapped. “This fight is finished with the treasure gone. And even if it wasn’t, another fight just like it would be right around the corner. I see no other way.” 

“What happens to Rogers?” James asked.

“He will be given the choice of walking away,” he said, “or being taken with us to account for his debts.” 

James’ lip curled in annoyance, but Thomas spoke before he could. “What else?” 

Rackham’s eyes snapped back to his, surprise clear. He’d not had much dealing with Thomas and had, like so many people before him, underestimated him. “There was another caveat, yes.” He looked between them, then away, looking at the table. He seemed to steel himself before looking up. “Flint must die.”

James tensed, hand going to the sword at his side automatically. He didn’t draw it and instead forced himself to sit back in his chair and relax his posture. He levelled Rackham with an unimpressed stare. “You’ve come here to kill me, Rackham?” he asked, low and challenging. “Many better men than you have tried. All have failed.”

This was met with a sigh and shake of his head. “Then it is a good thing that I have no intention of trying to kill you in the way they did.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Thomas said, voice now sharp and brittle. 

He took a breath, looking between them. “Have I ever explained why I enjoy stories so much?” 

They listened to his plan. Flint and Long John Silver would be banished, defeated by the Empire and its threats. The last of the great pirates gone in the face of a new, modern system that promised order and comfort. In return, England would offer its protection to Nassau via the Guthries, thus almost certainly ending Spain's desire to offer support to Rogers. James felt sick listening to him. At some point, Thomas reached for him, taking hold of his wrist under the table and gripping it tight. 

He knew what it meant: don’t react. Let him have his say. James ignored him. 

“No,” he said, low and final. 

“No?” Rackham said, not surprised, apparently, but annoyed nonetheless. 

“No,” he repeated. “This is the opposite of what we want. Vane will never agree to it for one.” 

Rackham let out a long sigh. “He will have little choice,” he said, he affected an unconcerned air that James didn’t believe even for a moment that he really felt. He wondered what had happened to Rackham since _The Walrus_ had left Nassau, what horrors he’d seen that had made him so unconcerned with his own place in history, so willing to cast aside the good favour of Charles Vanes. “Once Teach realises we have no way of enticing him, he will likely insist that Vane joins him or he’ll kill him. Even if he escapes, even if he kills Teach instead, he’s one pirate. Nassau doesn’t need Charles Vane. He can choose to be part of the new system or he can leave and continue to be part of the old one.”

“And having them as an enemy doesn’t worry you?” 

“Not as much as Spain killing us all within the week does, no,” he said. James searched his face, trying to see the break in his resolve, but found nothing. “I will give them the same choice I am giving you. Maybe they will see reason.” 

“Where's Miss Bonny?” Thomas asked, leaning forward to catch Rackham’s eye and ask the same question that James had just considered. “Why is she not at your side like every other time I've seen you?” 

There was a long silence where James thought that he might not answer. “She is with Max as I said,” he replied, voice a little tight.

"You nearly lost her," Thomas said, so plainly that it seemed fact the moment the words were uttered.

Some emotion flickered over Rackham's face that was impossible to discern, but it was all the tell James needed to know Thomas had the right of the situation. Rackham seemed to realise it too, for he sighed. “I came to learn what is truly important to me," he said. 

“You're scared,” James sneered. 

“I had a moment of clarity,” he said, shrugging, as though James' opinion of him meant little. “I have been chasing my place in history for so long…” He shook his head. “It nearly killed me. Nearly killed Charles. Nearly killed Anne. It was time to find a new purpose.” He sighed again, weary and sad-seeming. It was clear that the plan he was outlining gave him little pleasure, even if he truly believed it was the best way forward. “I will remain on the island until the morning to give you time to consider my offer. But, then I will put it into motion regardless. If you believe you can fight me, Rogers, Spain, England and now the Guthries all at once...” He shook his head. “Well, I would wish you luck, but consider you a bigger fool than you look.” 

He left them sitting in heavy silence. James stared at the table, barely seeing the wood. It was strange, he thought, to have lost everything twice and end up here in Maroon both times. This place seemed to be purgatory, a grey and miserable place where he considered how best to die. 

“James,” Thomas said, voice low and sad, but still resolute, “we have to take the deal.” 

He shook his head, no words coming, but despair filling him at Thomas’ words. Not him too. He couldn't stand to lose his support now. It was the only thing he had left. 

“I’m sorry,” he continued when James didn't respond. His voice was thick and miserable. “But, we have to. It’s the only way out of this now. It’s the only way we can save John.”

“I can’t,” he said, surprised at how level his voice was, even though he felt choked with emotion. “I can’t do that.”

“Why?” Thomas asked, turning in his chair so he was facing him. James didn’t turn to look at him, staring forward instead, holding himself tight in case he flew apart. “It’s not what we wanted, but it-” 

“Don’t you see?” he asked, suddenly, his emotions bubbling over. “This is how they _win_. This is how they get to turn us into monsters, take everything we’ve done and make _us_ the villains.” After everything that had been taken from Thomas, his title, his good name, his _wife,_ how could James let that injustice stand? How could he walk away and let Thomas Hamilton be remembered as a man that went mad and killed himself? How could he let James McGraw be a disgraced naval officer that died at sea? 

“That story isn’t real,” Thomas said, softly. 

James reared back from him. “How can you say that?” he asked. “England tells this tale and it _becomes reality_. Everyone, the _world,_ will believe it.” 

Thomas sighed. “Perhaps,” he said, there was pain in his voice, but also resignation and James hated it, wanted to shake him. “But _we_ know. We will _always_ know. You have power over your mind - not outside events, remember?”

“The outside events killed you,” he spat. He jabbed his finger, pointing at Thomas’ still healing shoulder. “And society _keeps coming_. It will _keep taking_ until there is nothing left of us. Until someone will stand and say ‘no more’.” 

Thomas dropped his eyes from James. “So we’re here to end all of society? Bend or break it until we are happy with its image?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” James could feel his frustration rising. These past few days had left him wrung out and he wasn’t sure how to keep his temper in check anymore. This wasn’t Thomas’ study in London. This wasn’t some philosophical debate. This was their lives. He wouldn’t be put off because Thomas had better mastery over his words. 

“Then what are you saying?” Thomas asked, his own irritation showing at the edges of his words. “I would like to understand what end point to this you envisioned. I would like to know _why_ we are doing this.”

He blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“What is this _for_ James? Is it to avenge the last ten years? And if that is the case, what recompense can there be for it? For the years of torture? For tearing us apart and destroying our lives? For _Miranda_?” Thomas’ eyes were wet and James found that words seemed to have failed him. Thomas shifted closer, holding James’ eye as he spoke, like he wanted nothing of his meaning to be lost. “Nothing can make up for that. England cannot atone for that. So why? Why are we doing this? When it started, in London, it was to save Nassau. To help the pirates and England begin to coexist again, to help all those people live a prosperous life. Does this plan not allow for that?” 

James wanted to respond, but he couldn’t, he hadn’t expected this from Thomas. This was _his_ plan. This was what he’d been working towards for so long. He couldn’t be suggesting casting it all aside now. But, his questions were so passionately phrased that James found himself unsure how to answer them.

“James,” he said when the silence continued for too long. “This isn’t a life. You know it isn’t. We don’t even have a _bed._ I understand that what we are doing here, it’s important, but will there be a time when your life is more important? The life we could have? When you first came here, that’s what you came home to tell us. That if we could create a prosperous Nassau then it would allow us to live.”

James shook his head. That life, that _man_ , seemed so alien to him now. “So what? We walk away from this, the last ten years is for nothing. All the pain, all the- It will have been for nothing and then what?”

“I just want for us to have some time,” Thomas said, his voice soft, finally looking away. “I want you to explain how we will know when we’ve achieved this victory you’re chasing and what we will gain from it, when we have it.” He paused, pursed his lips tightly. “Because if we don’t stop now, then we will lose John. Rogers will kill him. And that would be such a loss I’m not sure we would ever recover.” 

He shook his head. “I thought you were with me.” 

“I _am_!” Thomas’ voice was loud in the quiet of the room. “But I do not want you and John to become cannon fodder for an island that doesn’t care for you, will never remember your sacrifice. I know it’s not fair that you have to shoulder this slight for us - for me and John and the rest of them - but I see no other way.” 

The words stung, even though he had long known they were true. The men might love John, would mourn his loss, but they would move on. For James? There would probably not even be a moment's grief. “This is bigger than just me.” 

“It’s as big as you want it to be. This plan, it secures many futures. Perhaps including your own - James, you have so much to give. I see no honour in throwing it away on a fight we cannot win. I believe the sanest strategy is finding a new way to fight - I do not know what that will be. But the start _has_ to be us being alive to find out.” 

James couldn’t look at him when he finished speaking. “I don’t know how to do what you’re asking of me.” The words were so quiet he wasn’t sure if Thomas heard him at first, hoped that he might not have. 

“You must decide where your line is," he said, softly, and with such affection it curled hot and painful in James' chest. "I cannot tell you what it is. But you must decide. Is a stable Nassau and a life with me and John both alive, enough to let England appear to win this particular fight?” 

James stared at his lap, unable to speak. 

Thomas sighed, pulling himself to his feet. “I will leave you to your decision.” He kissed James softly on the head as he walked by him, lingering to touch his shoulder gently.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving James alone. 

****

It was dark by the time James went to Thomas’ room. He waited silently in the doorway, watching him until he noticed him there. 

“I’m going to give Rackham my answer,” he said, when their eyes met. 

Thomas nodded, getting to his feet. “I’ll come with you.” 

He paused, considering him for a moment. “Are you not going to ask what answer it is?” 

Thomas smiled softly, taking both James’ hands in his, kissing him softly. Then he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m with you, James, whatever it is.”

He didn’t trust himself to speak, his chest so full of love he didn’t know how he was going to contain it. He nodded, leaning in and kissing him softly, once, before leaving. 

Rackham greeted them with an incline of his head and waved for them to enter. They sat, all trying to project a casualness they knew none of them really felt. 

“I’ll abide by your agreement with Eleanor,” James said, back straight and face set. He held himself tight, not daring to relax even a little in case his resolve gave way. “I will retire, no one will hear from me so long as you uphold your end of the deal and Nassau remains free in the manner you have laid out here. Furthermore, Maroon’s freedom will not be challenged in any way. If I hear that you have given away its location or in any way compromised its security, the deal will be off.” He watched as Jack’s shoulders relaxed. “But I will do nothing until we have Silver. Without him there is no deal.” 

Rackham nodded, as though he had expected as much. “I will make the terms clear, you can collect him from my ship before you leave.” 

James nodded. “Do it.” 

There was a long pause where Rackham watched him steadily, calculating. It was strange that it should come down to the two of them to make this deal. They had never had cause to much deal directly with one another before now. Any trust there was between _The Walrus_ and Rackham’s crew belonged to John. “Is there something you wish to say?” he asked. 

Rackham gave him a flat look in return. “I find myself surprised that you have agreed so readily to a plan that includes your exile.” 

“I have always fought for a free Nassau,” he said, placing his hands on the table in front of him. It was cool to the touch and it grounded him. “This plan will ensure its relative freedom for the longest time possible. It secures it from falling into the hands of a madman.” 

“That’s not an answer,” Rackham said. “Those were the reasons I gave when I first arrived and you rejected them. Something has changed.” 

“Why does it matter if you’ve won?” 

“Because I need to be sure you will not go back on our deal as soon as the Spanish are gone.” 

He fought with himself for a long moment. The words were there, were ready to be spoken, but he simply couldn’t make them come out. He clenched his jaw for a long moment before he managed to get enough control to force them out. “I found my line.” 

He didn’t wait for a reply, his answer would have to do Rackham. He stood and left, his long strides carrying him quickly away, back to Thomas’ room. 

“James,” Thomas started, coming in behind him and closing the door. “Why-?”

James reached for him, pulling him close. “I can survive without the war,” he murmured into his hair, answering the question that he knew was being asked of him. He had to get them out quickly, or he knew they wouldn’t come. “I can find a way to survive. But I do not think we will survive without you both alive.” 

Thomas nodded against him, holding him close and laying kisses along the skin that he could reach without pulling back. “I'm glad that he will be returned to you.” 

James perhaps should have noted the strange phrasing then, but he didn’t. He was too relieved to have made the decision and to have made it known to the world. He kissed Thomas’ head softly. “Come,” he said, “there is still much to plan.” 

***

The room was small, but John had spent longer locked in smaller. He measured his breath, not letting himself consider his surroundings; small spaces seemed to shrink the longer you spent contemplating them. Not that there were many better topics for him to consider.

Things had not worked out, exactly, according to his plans. He’d known there were risks before he'd started, but he hadn't let himself envision how badly wrong it could truly go. It had at least started off well. Billy had been positively pleased to see him and John had barely begun to outline the plan before he was agreeing to it. Billy had duly taken the treasure to be hidden somewhere that it would not be found - even by John, in case Rogers thought to secure its location from him. Billy had promised to talk to Rackham, make him see sense, before Rogers even arrived. All that had been left was for John to use his diplomacy skills and the name of Long John Silver to turn Rogers to his way of thinking. 

What he hadn’t accounted for, was that Rogers had gone quite mad. Whatever had transpired between him and Eleanor had left him unable to see reason. John had known it was hopeless the moment he’d looked him in the eye. It was far, far too late by then of course. He’d still given it his best, but Rogers now seemed to think that seeing all the pirates dead and Nassau ruined as the only permissible outcome. 

The man standing before him, eyes flat and distant, was not the clever, reasoned one John had heard so much about. Love seemed to be a ruinous thing. It turned you to into someone you didn't recognise. John might have felt almost sorry for him, but for what had happened after. Rogers hadn’t even believed that John had the treasure. He’d taken some as proof, but it hadn’t been enough for Rogers not to believe that he was being led right into a trap.

John had tried to reason with him but that had only led to Rogers killing both the men John had brought with him and taking John prisoner. He had remained below deck ever since. It was likely only a matter of time before he was dragged on deck to be threatened with keelhauling if he didn’t give away the location of the rest of the men Rogers was convinced were lying in wait for him somewhere out of sight. 

Their one conversation since he had been taken to his little room, had been short, angry on both sides, and not in the least productive. John had lost the peg leg as a result of that conversation. It was a spiteful act, but one he understood; Rogers wanted there to be no doubt who was in control of the situation. 

He supposed there was little chance of rescue. Even if Billy wanted to, he had no ship and Rogers was within a day of a fleet of Spanish ships. He carefully avoided thinking of James and didn’t even know if Thomas was even alive. Being unable to think of the past and unsure of the future left not much in the way of topics to occupy his mind while he waited for the inevitable to happen. He tried to plan, but time crawled by with so little to distract him. They brought him food sometimes, but he was sure it was not consistent and so had no real way to know how long he'd been held. The monotony dragged on, seeming to weigh heavy in his chest. He felt wretched and alone. He'd never been in quite such a dire situation before, he was sure. That didn't mean he had given up, but the possibility of his ignominious death seemed to grow more certain by the hour. 

Rogers entered the room suddenly, a question already poised on his lips and a scowl on his face. “Where are the rest of your men?” he sounded angry. An interesting way to begin the conversation, and John wondered if things were somehow not proceeding according to Rogers' plans either. 

John looked at him blankly. “I don’t know, what did you do with their bodies?” 

His jaw worked for a moment. “The _rest_ of your men.” 

“There is no ‘rest of them’,” John said. “I had exactly two men and they are dead.” 

“And yet you promised to deliver me Nassau,” Rogers said. 

“My name,” John said, “that’s where the power is. I could have been your mouth piece, stopped any resistance. That’s not the same as having an army at my disposal.” 

Rogers watched him closely. “I expected more from the legend of Long John Silver.” 

John tried not to smile. “You are not alone in that, I’m sure.” 

“I didn’t want this,” Rogers said, suddenly, like the words had been pushed out of him unexpectedly. He leant against the door frame and regarded John. He did not seem impressed with whatever he saw. “I truly wanted peace for the island. I wanted to finish what Thomas Hamilton started. His vision was a good one, desperately naive, but a sound basis.” 

John tried to control his reaction. It was so strange to hear that name spoken aloud with no warning. It felt like a physical blow. It was vile to hear it from Rogers’ mouth when he’d tried to kill him. _Had_ possibly killed him. He balled his hands into fists. “You want to see Nassau burn,” he said, through gritted teeth. “That is why you’ll never be able to keep it. You don’t _care_ and everyone knows it.” 

“It has taken everything from me,” he hissed. 

“That is what it does,” John said, tired and in no mood for this particular conversation. “You are just the next in a long line of men that thought it could be brought to heel. Perhaps if you’d spent a little longer considering your plans and little less time playing at being a pirate you might have known that.” 

Rogers took an angry step forward but seemed to remember himself at the last moment. He settled for levelling John with a furious glare. “I put everything into this. No one has been more comprehensive, and yet you all, to a man, seem utterly without reason.” 

“Marrying and abandoning the woman who used to run the island isn’t as fool-proof as you might have imagined.”

Rogers looked at him, and John knew that he’d probably gone too far. It didn’t matter. Angering him into giving John a quick death was better than a keelhauling. Or perhaps his anger might be a way through, a way to the man beneath. “Is that why you tried to bring Thomas Hamilton here?” he asked, before Rogers had a chance to collect himself, hoping that it might catch him off-guard. 

“What?” Rogers asked, his face a mask of surprise before it was smoothly covered. 

“Was it meant to be a secret that you were transporting him from Savannah?” John asked, aiming for and mostly achieving nonchalance. “I’m not sure what you believed he would be able to bring to your cause, his failed long before he even managed to get on a ship.” It was cheap goading, but with Rogers so obviously agitated it stood at least a chance of working. 

It did get a small smile at least. “You underestimate my understanding of the situation.” There was a leer in the curl of his lip that made John want to punch it right off his face. 

So he knew about James and Thomas. Probably had somehow linked Flint and McGraw. “Do I?” he asked, affecting a disinterested tone. 

“You on the other hand,” Rogers said, as though John hadn't spoken, “I do not understand. What did you hope to gain by coming here? Did you think the trap would work?”

John tried not to sigh. It was too much to hope that Rogers would tell him everything, but he supposed that it didn’t matter. He’d confirmed that it was him that was looking for Thomas. There was really nothing else that John cared to know. “We have had this discussion,” he said. “More than once. I do not understand what _you_ hope to gain by going over it again.” 

“You will be hanged,” Rogers said. 

“Yes,” John said. “But I do not regret trying to end the bloodshed that is coming. It is not needed and it will not bring any peace, no stability. You will not find what you seek upon a ruined Nassau.”

Rogers watched him and John wondered for a moment what he was thinking, if there was some chance that he had gotten through to him. 

“Eleanor would not want this,” he said, one last effort. “There is still time for you to change your mind. We can write to her together and tell her of our plan.”

He watched as Rogers' face closed completely, settling behind a mask of cool indifference. He was reminded, in some strange way, of Flint. The door was closed and locked a few seconds later and John was alone. 

He remained that way for days. Nothing changed. Sometimes they bought him food, often they didn’t. There were no windows and so no way to track the passage of time. He slept fitfully, waking with a jolt and an ache in his stomach - hunger mixed with the blunt feeling of loss and loneliness. At first he planned, coming up with several options for how to reach out to Rogers, his crew, _anyone_ that he might become useful to. None of them seemed liable to work but they kept his mind busy. 

In the end he needed none of them. Rogers appeared suddenly, face white and angry. He barely broke his stride as he bent to drag John from the floor and out of the little room. He blinked as he was led from his cell. Without his leg it was hard to keep up and his breath was ragged when they reached sunlight. He blinked, waiting for something to come into focus. He wasn’t expecting to see Rackham and Bonny when he was at last able to make anything out. Their expressions were grim, their eyes sweeping over John only briefly before Rackham was nodding to Rogers. They both appeared to have been in a terrible battle. Newly healing bruises and cuts littered Bonny's face, and she was standing a little more stiffly than she normally would. 

The push to send him forward was an unnecessary cruelty which John should have been expecting. But his attention was focused on the two pirates ahead of him and so he ended up sprawled at Rackham’s feet. No one moved to help him up. 

“He will be tried in England?” Rogers asked. 

“It seemed safer.” Rackham’s voice was haughty, clearly still harbouring an intense dislike of Rogers, or perhaps it was a tone he thought made him sound refined. 

So. It was to be a trail and hanging in England. Fucking London. He’d hoped never to see the place again. That it was to be Jack _fucking_ Rackham that was going to deliver him there might have been a little insulting, but John supposed it made sense. He’d known the moment he took the chest that he was cutting off any chance of finding allies in Nassau to help him escape. That no one was coming to rescue him. Still. He had hoped that they might not want Long John Silver hanged for all of England to jeer at. Although perhaps this was part of some deal that Rackham had cut with Rogers to secure his and Bonny's freedom. He hadn't considered the possibility that Rackham would turn on them before, but then, no one had thought John would either. A lot could apparently happen in a few short weeks. 

He took his time getting up, only having to exaggerate the process a little, hoping that he might hear more, but apparently Rogers and Rackham had no mind to make small talk, or not in front of him at least. Once he was up, Bonny stepped forward and gripped his arm, hauling him away from Rogers. John looked back over his shoulder to catch a last look at them. His mind was racing, trying to figure out an angle he might be able to play. What deal had Rackham managed to cut that allowed him to take Long John Silver and not have his ship sunk on sight? Clearly there was a break in the pirate alliance; there seemed little chance Vane or James would have sanctioned a treaty. Too much time had passed, anything could have happened since he'd left Maroon and the uncertainly made it hard to plan. But, one things was sure, Rackham's ship was an improvement over Rogers'. He was far more likely to find support among pirates than Rogers' crew. He watched Bonny's frame as she walked; she looked like she was limping and trying to hide it. It seemed unlikely there would be an in with her. She had never shown anything but simmering dislike for him. Perhaps there was something to the Max angle, though. 

“You know-” he started, trying to keep both his tone light and not trip as they made their way below deck. 

“Shut the fuck up.” She glared out at him from under her hat. Both her eyes were swollen, but it did nothing to diminish the ferocity. John wasn’t sure he’d ever received a pleasant expression from her, but she seemed more hostile than than ever. 

“I was only going to thank you for taking the right of killing me away from that madman.”

She shook her head in clear disgust. “You’re a fucking lucky little prick,” she spat, roughly pushing him into a store room and slamming and locking the door behind him. 

John wondered about that, as he sat huddled on the floor, waiting for whatever was coming next. Did she think having his life a little longer was lucky? Or perhaps the clean death of hanging. He supposed that would have its merits. He didn’t much relish the idea of the voyage back to England. He’d had far too long to wonder what had happened since he’d gone as it was. Had Thomas regained consciousness? How vehemently did he and James hate him now? Were they even still alive? Rackham surely wouldn’t be able to resist gloating about whatever plan he’d conceived that had landed him the honour of killing Long John Silver. Perhaps he’d get his answers before the end. That would be some comfort. 

The hours dragged. Rackham didn’t appear. John wished he could sleep. He’d forgotten, almost, how distracting being hungry was. It had only been a few months, but the feeling of it didn’t get more pleasant with practice. He closed his eyes. He blinked them open from a fitful doze an indeterminate amount of time later, at the sound of boots coming towards the door. He shifted, wondering if he ought to try and stand. It was hard to know if would be better to look imposing or weak, but he decided there was little chance of the former in his current state and remained where he was. The lock to the door made a shriek of protest as it was turned and the door hauled open. 

John blinked at the figure framed in the doorway in confusion for a long moment. “James?” 

James swept into the room. He looked about as furious as John had ever seen him. He didn’t cringe back from him, but that was more because of his utter surprise at seeing him, rather than any real certainty that he wasn’t in any physical danger. James stared down at him, face tight with fury. “They took your leg?” 

John tried to gather himself, tried to fit this piece of the puzzle into the picture he’d been creating. It didn’t fit. “He summarised it would make it much harder for me to run away.”

“Fucking-” James cut off and bent down to help him up, looping an arm around his waist. “Are you injured?” 

John shook his head and tried to balance himself against James. It was hard not to sink into the embrace, his every instinct was to let himself be supported. But nothing made sense and until it did he had to hold himself tight and away. There was no universe where he truly believed that James and Thomas would be complicit in his hanging, but that James had somehow negotiated his release also seemed preposterous. There was too much he would have had to give up. 

He felt dazed as James led him from Rackham’s ship. “Get him a crutch,” he snapped as soon as they made it to _The Walrus_. The speed with which they had managed to repair her was nothing short of a miracle. But he supposed the men must have had the motivation. Perhaps the chance to take their revenge on him had been enough to have them working around the clock. He’d seen love turn to bitter hatred more quickly than most people wanted to believe possible and knew better than to assume any of their loyalty after what he'd done. 

He felt dizzy by the time James was depositing him in his quarters. John sat heavily in the chair at James' desk, his head spinning. He hadn't expected to ever see the room again, and he was surprised by the mix of emotions in his chest. 

“Someone’s bringing you food.” James’ tone was still hard and angry, but he was looking over John like he was checking for injuries. 

“What’s happening?” he asked, when it became clear that James wasn’t going to volunteer information. “Where’s Thomas? Is he okay?” 

“He’s coming,” James said, shortly. Then he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face and John noticed for the first time how tired he looked. It had been well over a week since Rogers’ attack and John wondered if he’d slept at all in that time. The tension in his shoulders became evident as he took another breath and visibly tried to relax as he released it. He sat down heavily on the bunk. “It’s over.” 

“What?” John’s heart seized in his chest. He’d known that James would be calling an end to their partnership, but he hadn’t expected he would feel the need to actually talk about it. He shrunk back, hunching over, instinctively trying to make himself smaller, like that might protect him from James' words. 

“The war,” James said. “Me. Flint.” 

“I don’t-”

He was cut off from enquiring further as the door opened. Thomas entered, he was pale, still visibly in pain from his wound. He was walking strangely, like the movement hurt. John pushed himself up from his seat, wanting to go to him, and Thomas immediately stopped walking. It left him standing near the open door. 

“You were filling him in?” Thomas asked, looking to James who nodded once. Thomas straightened, looking back at John, his face unreadable. “You have your wish, then. The treasure is gone. James has agreed that Flint will walk away, defeated by Rogers, bowed by England and cast out by the remaining pirates.”

John’s heart squeezed in his chest, his head spinning again. What had Rackham _done_? How? Thomas’ face was so blank that John couldn’t read a single expression. It scared him more than anything that had happened on Rogers’ ship. 

“Thomas,” he started, taking an aborted step forward. “I-”

Thomas took a step back, he was almost back at the threshold of the room, ready to leave. His expression was like the one he’d worn when they first met. But this was somehow worse. More deliberate. 

“I’m gratified to see you well, John.” His voice was almost entirely flat. 

John felt a little desperate as he looked at James who was wearing a pained expression but didn’t speak. 

He looked back at Thomas, trying to think of the words that might make him soften a little. Surely there was some angle that might reach him. “I- Thank you. For coming. For saving me.” 

Thomas nodded. “I always said I would ensure your life was saved if it was in my power.” 

That hit John so hard it was almost like a punch. He remembered, back before they’d found James, when Thomas had hit him. That had been so much better. Seeing the passion he'd elicited was so much preferable to this cold aloofness. “A debt.” 

There was a moment when he thought Thomas was going to relent when some undefinable emotion flickered across his face. “One paid in full,” he said, instead, face back to cold and distant. “I would hope you are in agreement? Your life for my and James’ life’s work?” 

He hung his head. That had been the plan. He had known the price of keeping them both alive was that they might never be his again. Alive and hating him or dead and loving him. He had made the choice between two irreplaceable things and now he had the rest of his life to wonder if it was the right one. “You never owed me that.” He said the words to the ground, unable to meet Thomas' eye. “But, you must know, I never expected this. Rogers-”

“Yes,” Thomas agreed. “A man so bent on our destruction that he would burn the whole island instead of letting it go. How could you have known he could not be relied on to act rationally? You are, after all, renowned as a terrible judge of character.” 

“I was desperate.” 

“You were selfish.” Thomas’ voice didn’t rise. It would have been better if it had. “You wanted to make this decision alone so the outcome would be most to your liking. Well,” he spread his hands, “I do hope you enjoy it.” 

John opened his mouth, but Thomas was already gone. 

He turned back to James, not sure what he was expecting to find, but was still disappointed to see his face was a mask of barely controlled rage. “I need to tend to him,” he gritted out, not managing to look at John. “He’s still quite ill and has been pushing himself near to death these last days.” He paused, like he might be about to speak but instead shook his head and left. 

And, just like that, John was alone. 

****

“What was that?” James asked, following close on Thomas’ heels. He was walking so quickly it was nearly a run. 

“That was me ensuring John's safety.” 

“And now you’re leaving?” James was having some trouble keeping up, not physically, given that even with his longer strides Thomas was hardly well enough to keep up his current pace. But his mood was a surprise - Thomas had seemed hardly to take in John’s stealing of the treasure and its fallout. He’d shown no anger at all, just a desire to see him returned. He had expected some resentment, perhaps, but not this cold fury. He’d never seen this mood on Thomas at all. 

“We all have to leave,” Thomas said, voice still clipped and angry. “I thought it best to start making arrangements.” 

“Thomas,” he said, putting on a burst of speed to overtake the other man and turn to face him. It halted his progress and there was a flicker of annoyance before he folded his arms across his chest and looked expectantly at James. “I’m asking what that was with John.” 

Thomas’ face twisted. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said. It sounded so like a lie that James thought he might relent immediately, but instead he raised his chin defiantly. “We got him back. He’s fine. Now he is free to do whatever he wishes.” 

“I find myself confused,” James said, keeping his voice carefully level. “I thought you wanted him back.”

“I didn’t want him dead.” 

“This was just about his life?”

Thomas wasn’t looking at James, his eyes - hard and angry - were focused over his shoulder. “What else is there?” 

“Thomas,” he said, voice flat. 

“I can’t look at him,” Thomas said, voice tight. “I don’t _want_ to look at him. He betrayed us. After everything. After knowing what this meant to you. He let us get close to him and then he betrayed everything. Even after I told him-” He cut off, his eyes shining and jaw jumping as he gritted his teeth. 

James hung his head. “He would tell you he had his reasons.”

“I don’t care to hear them.” Thomas took a step around him. “I’ll be arranging our things for travel.” 

James let him go. This wasn’t the first time Thomas had faced such a personal betrayal, but it was the first time he’d had to deal with the direct aftermath. James might have found his reaction fascinating in how unexpected it was, but the sick feeling in his stomach prevented any real reflection on the matter. He had acted to save his future, perhaps at the cost of many others and now it seemed like it was slipping away. 

Thomas needed time to think, he wasn’t in any immediate danger, and James desperately wanted to see John. He needed to reassure himself they were all safe despite what had just happened. He turned and went back to his quarters. 

There was food on the table but John was staring at it and not moving when James entered. He looked tired, ill, whatever Rogers had been doing to him probably hadn’t been pleasant. He curled his hands into fists, trying to calm the familiar stirrings of anger. It wouldn’t help him now. 

He stared at him for a long moment, trying to concoct the right words. He hadn’t dared consider what he would say if they managed to get him back. It had seemed like tempting fate, but now he was at a complete loss. There seemed too much that needed to be said but none of it was in his grasp. “You should eat.” 

John huffed. “I find myself without appetite.”

There was a beat of silence while James took in John’s dark expression. “Sulking won’t make him forgive you.” 

John turned his head in obvious surprise. “Sulking?”

“What did you think was going to happen?” he asked, anger tight in his chest. Thomas had somehow managed to calm the rage in him over the days that John was missing, but it didn’t mean that he was feeling entirely friendly towards him now. The betrayal was still fresh, it still stung, even if Thomas’ outrage had forced him into a different approach. 

“I thought you would hate me,” John said, quiet but firm; this was something he had clearly considered. “I thought you might want revenge. I thought Thomas would be torn by the side to pick but that his love for you would win out and I would be left alone.” 

James nodded. The words were fair even though they still hurt. Perhaps if Thomas had not found a way to reason with him, if he hadn’t found a way to make James start to imagine a future after the war, that would have been the outcome. He wasn’t sure. “You didn’t foresee me being the reasonable one upon your return?” 

“No,” John sighed, bitter and angry sounding, “but that’s to be expected, I suppose.”

James frowned at him. “What’s that mean?”

John shook his head, his jaw flexing in obvious anger. “That’s right, isn’t it?” he asked. “I know nothing about either of you. I had no right to even guess at your thinking?” 

Guilt rose in him, unexpected and heavy. “I was angry,” he said, not wanting to back down but needing to explain. “Thomas had nearly just been murdered. What I said-” 

“It doesn’t matter,” John said, waving him off. “I did what I did to save you, your feelings for me aren’t relevant.” 

“Oh,” James spat, “we’re well aware of that.” 

John looked at him, the curl of his hand the only tell that he was not entirely at ease. “You cannot twist this into something it was not. I needed to ensure an end to the chaos, to save your lives. The Spanish, that was never going to be the end, there was always going to be another Governor, another fight. I wanted it over.”

John was looking at him steadily, his eyes focused. James had never thought that John’s intentions were wholly selfish, that at least part of his calculations were likely to include him and Thomas, perhaps even the crew. But seeing the truth of it in John’s face made him relieved, a little, all the same. The rage, though, at the mention of England was still hot and pressing in his chest. “It never occurred to you to talk to us? To wait until Thomas was conscious before you did this?” 

“How was I supposed to do that?” He looked so earnest that James was momentarily thrown. 

He shook his head. “We were here, John. We weren’t the ones that left.” Because that was the crux of it, really. John hadn’t tried to do it with them. When it came right down to it, there was only a partnership between them so long as John’s plans aligned with their own. 

“I wanted-”

“ _You_ wanted,” he cut in, taking a step towards John. “That’s just it. What about the three of us? What happened to making decisions together?” 

“I had to save you,” John’s voice was less sure now, obvious hurt etched in every line of his face. “The war, it was never going to end.”

“But it _has_ ended,” James said, his voice hitching slightly at the memory of it. “We ended it. With Max and Jack and Eleanor. It’s over. But I look around and I don’t see you. You’re gone. You’re always one foot out the door and I can’t live like that, _he_ can’t live like that.” 

John looked down at his hands. “And that is now what you both want? For me to be gone?”

“For fuck’s _sake_ , John.” His voice was loud but John didn’t flinch, he hardly reacted at all. It was so frustrating that James had to move. He paced the room, frustration, grief and fear all warring for dominance. “Do you hear yourself? What do _you_ want? What are _you_ going to do now? Because apparently that’s all that matters anyway, Thomas’ wishes, my own, they are secondary to your own. So tell me, what was the grand plan here?” 

“You both safe,” John said quietly. “That was it. Madi safe. The crew, I suppose. Just some peace for you.”

“And you?” James asked. 

John shrugged. “I truly believed that Rogers would let us leave. I hadn’t considered beyond that. I knew,” he cut off, his voice tight. “I knew that you might hate me. But you would be alive to do it and that seemed a price worth paying.”

“Does it still?” James asked. John’s words had deflated him, left him feeling tired. Sad. Old. 

John looked at him helplessly. “This isn’t what I wanted,” he said. “I never wanted to go against you or Thomas. I simply saw no other route forward.”

They looked at each for a long time. James couldn’t see anything but genuine sentiment in John’s face. He found it oddly sad, seeing him so low. He was clearly grieved by the outcome. “Are you sorry for it?” 

“For trying to save you?”

James’ jaw flexed in anger. “For betraying us.” 

John looked away. “I don’t know how to answer that.” His voice was soft, like he might have been talking to himself. “I am sorry that I misread Rogers, but I cannot be sorry for my part in ending this war.” 

James let out a breath. “Then there is nothing left to say.” The words were sharp, they seemed to cut as he forced them out. He waited, but John apparently took him at his word and said nothing. He didn’t even look at him. “Eat something,” he managed, after a moment.

“I am sorry that I caused you hurt,” John said, when James was at the door. A last attempt, perhaps, to bridge the gulf that had opened between them. It felt thin, fragile. James ignored it. He closed the door firmly behind him.

_TBC_


	12. Chapter 12

John wasn’t actually left alone for long. Most of the men seemed to find some reason to stop by, bring him food, fill him in on gossip or pass along their pleasure at his rescue in various combinations of insults and swear words. Thomas and James clearly hadn’t told anyone else what had happened to the last of the treasure. It was nice, a comfort of sorts, even if he knew he didn’t deserve it. It would have been more pleasant if he could think of anything other than the way Thomas had refused to even look at him or the look on James’ face before he left. 

“We need to get you a new leg,” Tyson said, cheerful and clearly a little excited to have him back. 

John looked away. He wanted to refuse the offer, but there was no point. He was useless without it and he had no idea how much danger they were still in. In their anger Thomas and James seemed to have left out rather a lot of information about what was happening. 

He looked down at the plate at his feet and willed himself to move and reach for it. He needed to eat if he was going to be any use to anyone. Nothing happened. He felt somehow worse than he had waiting for Rogers to kill him. There at least he knew where he stood and could content himself with thinking of, probably implausible, means of escape. Here there was nothing to do. Nothing other than consider what his life might be now he'd destroyed the one he'd just created. 

He nodded to Tyson. “Sooner the better,” he said. “Never know when it’s going to be useful to have two again.” 

Tyson laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “Smith been around yet? He’s looked half-dead this past week. He’ll be pleased to have you back.”

“I think that might have been the nearly dying,” John said, cool and a little clipped. He hadn’t thought, somehow, that everyone would still assume they were together. John had never had the misfortune of being cast aside and then having friends around to see it. It was a peculiar sort of pain. More akin to shame than the misery he felt when he thought of James and Thomas directly. He took a breath, the urge to flee flaring suddenly hot and insistent in his chest. 

Tyson was still laughing. “He’s been a right bastard,” he continued, as though John wanted to hear anything about what his betrayal had done to the men he loved. “Even been fighting with the captain, and I didn’t think he had that in him.” 

John didn’t answer. There was nothing to say. There was no need for the story of their relationship any longer. He should end it. He swallowed, tried to think of the words, but nothing came to mind. 

“I’ll be back when we find something that might do for a better crutch - there might even be an old peg around here.” 

He nodded, throat too tight to speak. It was grief, the feeling in his chest, great and terrible as it yawned open. It was absurd. He’d done what he had to stop them from dying. To stop from having to feel this way. He hadn’t thought of what it would be like to mourn what he’d had, what he’d given up with them. This wasn’t a pain that he could simply shed by walking away. It was the sort of pain that hung around your neck, heavy and unyielding. It was the sort of pain that had created Captain Flint. 

Even if he somehow managed to never again think of the time they’d been truly together on Nassau, before Rogers has destroyed it, the feeling of it would linger. The ghost of that one perfect morning they’d all been allowed to wake together would haunt him for the rest of his life. He wouldn't be able to outrun it. Worse, he didn’t want to. He wanted to plant himself so firmly that they’d never move him. He wanted to fall to his knees at their feet and beg for forgiveness. He wanted to make some bargain, some plea that would let him back into their lives. It was useless. He’d known that before he’d done it. It was a price that he would gladly pay again. But that didn’t make it easier. 

He looked at the food, wondered again about trying to force it down. He must be hungry, it had been days since his last proper meal, but he couldn’t make himself do it. He pushed it away. 

****

James avoided the room where John had been moved to. The thought of going in there was too much; he needed to think, to calculate some way forward. _The Walrus_ was more holes than it was ship, so hasty had been the repairs they managed before setting out to reclaim John. So there was at least plenty to keep him occupied. Thomas seemed even less inclined towards company than he did, so he was left to his thoughts. Nothing concrete formed. For the first time in over a decade he had no clear path forward, no goal in mind. He felt adrift. Thomas and John were the only constants he’d been able to see for months and even that seemed to be shifting unsteadily under his feet. 

He was angry, furious even, that John had acted as he had. It felt again that all his achievements had been ripped away from him in an instant. He was left with nothing to show for his life’s work. Nothing, that was, but the two men that were currently on opposite ends of the ship. He would need to speak to them again. Decisions needed to be made, and if there was anything that he knew he must learn from the last two weeks it was that he shouldn’t make them alone. 

He went to John. The lingering terror that he’d lost him forever decided the direction of his feet for him, although Thomas’ obvious foul mood helped.

John looked up from where he was sitting on the ground, back against the wall and leg stretched out in front of him. Clearly at some point in the last few hours he’d attempted to clean himself and new clothes had been found for him. But otherwise he looked like he might have not moved at all. His eyes were bruised with shadows and his shoulders hunched in something as close to defeat as James had ever seen on him. 

“What are your plans now?” he asked, having no better opener. It was also the question that had been playing on a loop in his mind since they knew for certain they had him back. 

John frowned at him. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” he said, “we’re free. For the first time in…” He shook his head, suddenly realising that this might be the first time in his life that he literally had nothing he _had_ to do. No pressing need for survival or revenge. It was unsettling. “We are all free to do as we will, and I would know what you intend to do.” 

“I hadn’t thought about it,” John said, slow, like he was expecting some trap. 

James nodded. That was what he’d suspected. 

The silence was heavy until John spoke again. “And… you?” 

He shrugged a shoulder. “I have nothing left _to_ do.” John winced, but he deserved that so James left him to the uncomfortable feeling. “But, for now, I thought,” he pulled the hand he’d had behind his back forward and waved the bottle he’d taken from the mess at John, “a drink.” 

John looked so taken aback that James couldn’t help but smile at him. 

“It’s not poisoned,” he felt compelled to say. “I just thought…” He trailed off, uncomfortable with John’s lack of response. He waited, watching him carefully. 

“I didn’t expect you to come back,” John said eventually. 

As invitations went, it wasn’t warm, but he took it anyway, sitting down heavily next to John on the floor. He was close enough that their shoulders brushed. He held himself back from leaning too far into the contact, unwilling for the moment to give that to John. “Well,” he said, uncorking the bottle, “you always did have too little faith in me.” He hadn’t meant it to sound as accusatory as it did. The silence dragged, painful and thick, afterwards. 

“I had too much,” John said, softly, eventually. “If you were less capable of bending the world to your vision for it, there would be little issue with letting you try.” 

John wasn’t much for giving compliments, the opposite of Thomas who seemed determined to explain to James his every positive thought towards him. John found affection harder. James understood that, if it was not something you were taught young it was hard to model it yourself. How Thomas managed it with only Alfred Hamilton as an example was just another way he was miraculous, he supposed. So, he took the sentiment in what John was saying and passed him the bottle to show he had.

Their fingers brushed as John took the bottle and drank. James realised quickly that he had no idea what to say. There was too much and yet too little between them currently to discuss. So they sat in silence. It was nicer than he might have imagined. They’d spent so little time together like this, content just to be, with nothing to plan, nothing urgent that needed their attention. He found it more agreeable than he might have imagined. 

“Would you have stopped?” John asked some time later. James turned to look at him, his face illuminated by the lantern sat on the floor at their feet. “If I’d have asked you to, if I’d told you my plan with Billy. Would you have listened?” 

He sighed. “I would have told you that your plan could not work.” 

They lapsed into silence again. He wasn’t sure if he’d said the right or wrong thing. But it was truthful and they’d have to build from that. 

“I knew that you would not be able to forgive it,” John said, voice small. 

“Then why do it at all?” The anger that had flared so strongly when he’d first learnt of John’s betrayal had dimmed now, in the face of Rackham’s plan and the end of Nassau as a truly free island. It hurt. The unfairness of what history would make of him, make of them all, burnt deep inside him and he wasn’t sure if he would ever be free of it. But he wasn’t sure where to aim it. John was an obvious target, but he found himself unable to do it. He didn’t want to hate him. It wasn’t John that had done this, not really. It was Rogers and all that he stood for. It was England. It was all of civilization that looked at James and what he was and judged it monstrous. John was not at blame for that. He had never truly seen James that way, not once, as far as he could tell. He’d always known that he was a man, had always tried to reach out to him as one. James might have loved him for that alone. 

John took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I wanted to be alone,” he said. 

James flinched, his heart squeezing and stomach plummeting for a moment. 

“When I left, the first time,” John clarified, to James’ confusion but tempered relief. 

“I fail to see-” he began but John ignored him.

“I have always thought that being alone was the better option,” he said. “The easier, the _safer_ , option. Then I met Thomas and of course he led me right back to you and…” He shook his head and took another long pull from the bottle. “The thing that I was running from happened anyway. It happened and it led to exactly what I always feared it would.” 

James’ heart was beating an insistent, heavy rhythm in his chest. “And what is that?” 

John turned to him and smiled sadly. “I know that you want me to tell you what has happened to make me as I am,” he started, his face pinched. “I-” He cut himself off and shook his head. “But you must see that it has left me like this: desperate to not feel anything for anyone again. I never wanted to find you, but there you were, so solid that the world bends to you rather than the other way around. So, I suppose I never had an option in the end.”

James smiled, his chest filling with an emotion that he had been so sure, just hours ago, that he would never be able to feel for John again. “And I didn’t even want to let you live,” he said, nudging closer to the warmth of him. “Perhaps we’re a matched pair.” 

John didn’t smile in return. He frowned, as though pained by what he was preparing to say. “Thomas kept asking me, when we first met, what I wanted. And I never had an answer. I had set myself the sole goal of never wanting something again. I never envisioned a future beyond the next meal or the next mark. But that changed when I came back. With you and Thomas. I started to want again and so when I saw it being taken away, I reacted in the only way I knew how.” 

He could so clearly see how hard it was for John to admit these things that James couldn’t help but be moved by it. He didn't trust himself to speak; he didn't want to stop John from talking and he didn't trust his voice not to break even if he did know what to say. Instead he nodded, tight, and hoped John could see his feelings. 

“I saw two paths,” John continued, holding James' eye firmly, though it clearly cost him to do it. “I saw you dead and me alone or I saw you alive and me alone. I cannot believe I chose wrong.”

James nodded again. He let the silence drag on. Then he took a breath. John had spoken so plainly that he deserved the same in return. “I made it plain, often, how little I trusted you,” he said. “I didn’t want to grant you access to my heart. It was a useless, dead thing, after Thomas and then what shred of life it had went out with Miranda. I pushed you away even though I knew what I might have felt for you if I’d let myself. I wonder, sometimes, what we could have become if I hadn’t done that.” 

John was silent again, perhaps surprised by his words. “I think,” he said, gently after a moment, “that it is better for the world that we will never truly know the answer to that.” 

The bubble of laughter was unexpected but welcome as it washed over him, easing the tension in his shoulders. “Perhaps you’re right.” 

“I-” John started and then stopped. “What you asked me, at the start of this conversation...” 

“Yes?” he prompted when John failed to continue. Instead he looked at James, searching his face for something that James wasn’t sure how to offer. 

“I can’t give you my past, but I would give my future,” John said, holding his eye. “You may have all of it, to use as you want.” 

The air went out of James in a rush. “I never needed your story, John,” he said, voice rough with emotion, the days of uncertainty and the even less certain future building in his chest. He leant forward to press his forehead to John’s. “I wanted you. Just you. I wanted you to stay.”

John melted against him, closing his eyes as the breath caught in his throat. He let out a shallow breath and edged closer. “I love you,” he breathed. 

The words hurt, but that was to be expected, with everything that had gone before. He closed his eyes tight, licked his lips and reached for John’s hands. “And I you,” he murmured, and kissed him. 

If it was unexpected, John showed no sign of it; he kissed him back, pressing forward with a fierce desperation that James felt in every line of his body. He pushed forward and James let him, falling back to the floor as John followed him down. They ended up in a heap of limbs, pressing together and still trying to pull the other closer. 

There was a pressure in the air around them, like a storm was about to break, as their hands fumbled with clothes. It was frantic, harsh breath and shaking hands. The phantom of the days when they both thought they would never see one another again hung over them. His hands went from John’s shirt to his trousers as if they had a mind of their own. It was as though neither of them wanted to pull back enough to give themselves room to undress. He contented himself with pushing John’s trousers down his hips. It was harder to get his own down, and they knocked teeth as they continued to drop desperate kisses as he lifted his hips to do it. 

When it was finally done he was able to reach between them, spit and their own excitement having to ease the friction as he stroked them both in one hand. John didn’t seem to mind, he was making desperate little noises into James mouth, his hands gripping at his biceps as he thrust into his fist. It was too much, there was too much tension and longing between them for it to last longer than a few minutes. 

“Fuck,” John muttered as James bit at his lip and thrust up to meet him.

“I-” James mouthed against his lips. “John, I-”

John nodded, breathing harsh, and face screwed up with pleasure. “Me too.” 

That was all it took for James to groan low and push up once more, before it was over, his pleasure overwhelming him. He tried to keep his hand movements steady but it was barely a couple of strokes before John was spilling messily over his hand, kissing him hard as he rode out his pleasure. 

They lay together, afterwards, James’ arms wrapped around John’s shoulders firmly. 

“What are you going to do, now this is all done?” John asked, voice forced, like he was trying to appear calm and unaffected by what had just happened. 

“I really have no idea,” he said, his fingers tracing idle patterns on John’s skin. “We have to meet with Vane and Teach. They sent word and asked for a meeting and I have no mind to slight them now. But after that…” He let the words trail off and tell their own story. 

John’s breathing continued to hitch above him, despite James’ attempt to sooth him. “When Thomas asks me to leave,” he said, his voice wavering for a moment, “you mustn’t feel bad for it.” 

James looked up at him, his face creasing in confusion. “What are you talking about?” 

“You saw him,” John said, shifting so he was lying to James’ side rather than on top of him. “He didn’t want me here, he didn’t even want to look at me. It will only be a matter of time before he insists that I leave, especially if he knows about this.” He gestured between them. 

James was so surprised that he could only blink in bafflement at him for a long moment, until it was replaced with frustration. “For goodness’ sake, John,” he sighed. “Why are you so determined to be sent away?” John stared at him with such confusion that James couldn’t help but soften. “He’s hurt. He’s angry and he doesn’t know how to handle it. But he still loves you. Who on earth do you think talked me down in the first place? He was the one that was determined to find you from the moment he was upright again. Before, actually, but he was a little delirious.” John continued to stare at him as though he were speaking another language. “Come now, haven’t you ever fought with someone you love before?”

The silence dragged long and John looked away, eyes no longer able to meet James’ own. 

“Ah,” he said, pulling him closer, tucking his head to his chest. “This will be quite the adventure for us all, then.” 

John didn’t say anything and James left him to his thoughts. He moved to place a kiss on his head and closed his eyes, letting himself drift for a long moment. He felt more relaxed than he had in months, here in this tiny room with John pressed close. It was as though some enormous weight had shifted. He allowed himself a small smile.

***

Thomas kept waiting for his heart to stop beating strangely, for his hands to stop shaking, for his chest to loosen. But time dragged on, painful moment by painful moment, and nothing got better. He tried to remember how he’d felt after they’d taken him from his home in London, if this was how it had been the last time. But the realisation of how deep the betrayal went had come in stages then, as did his understanding of just how dire his situation truly was. Now, it was unavoidable. He’d made himself into the worst kind of fool and James had paid the price for it, just like last time. The look on his face when he’d realised that Flint could be no more, that his dream was dead, would haunt Thomas for the rest of his life. And it was his fault. He’d insisted that they let John in. He’d pushed and pushed. Like he always did - ignoring others’ wishes and going after what he wanted. He was still the same selfish and arrogant fool and he had allowed himself to be blinded by the possibility for a future that had shattered around him, cutting him to shreds in the process. 

He tried to keep busy, tried to focus on anything else but everything somehow just reminded him of John. His thoughts went in circles, going over what had happened and his impotence to do anything to change it. He could find no rest. James avoided him. Which he both deserved and was grateful for. He wasn’t sure what to say now they were done. Now that John was safe and there was nothing left to do but slink away from the fight. 

He had meant what he’d said to James; there was some nobility in living the life that civilisation so desperately wanted to deny them. It had been the dream they’d so fleetingly imagined in London after James’ first trip to Nassau. They might truly find some happiness in that, he knew. But he was also unsure if they were capable of that now. They’d turned themselves into versions of themselves that were able to survive the horrors of the past ten years. They were no longer made for soft things, for homes and silverware. Thomas might have been much more recent to the fight than James, but that didn't mean he hadn't been committed, that he hadn't desperately wanted the victory. It was like London, only so much more immediate, to be able to _see_ the land he was trying to liberate, to know the people whose lives hung in the balance. He had been near-drunk with it, with the power that James seemed to wield so easily. He had _liked_ it. That thought alone was troubling, probably, but it was that he hadn't seen his own obsession growing that truly worried him. It had started with James, with wanting to please him and support him, but he knew himself well enough to know that it had been as much about his own ego by the end. He'd thought himself so _clever_ to have found himself back in a fight he'd thought he'd lost a decade. He thought he might find the victory his father had taken from him. He had wanted it. Being so consumed by the war had also kept him from having to consider anything else. Where he would go without it, who he would be. 

He felt more lost now than he ever had. With no route forward and his every plan in ruin, there seemed nowhere to turn. He was unused to feeling the sort of rage, hot and impossible to ignore in his chest, that came with being so powerless. Was this how James felt all the time? All this terrible energy and nowhere to direct it? No wonder he’d waged war against the world. Thomas felt he could do the same. 

DeGroot was glaring at him from the stern of the ship, annoyed that he’d done little but pace the deck, then start a job only to drift off a few minutes later and forget to finish it. “I thought you’d be locked in the cabin with him and not subjecting us to your sorry excuse for work.” 

Thomas turned a hard stare at DeGroot as he finished his approach. “Do you imagine that your insights are ever, even in the least bit welcome? Or do you say them just to prove how wretched you truly are at every possible juncture?” 

DeGroot’s eyebrows rose. Thomas had never actually snapped at him before. But apparently it took more than that to bother him after all his years at sea. He gave him a blank look. “You should be with him.”

He was confused for a moment before he remembered their cover story. He wanted to dismiss it. But there was too much to explain, and there was little point now anyway. He opened his mouth to say he had no intention of talking to John but was cut off. 

“I don't care,” DeGroot snapped. “Don’t think because I’m here I do. But I’d rather have you all united, bad things happen when he’s not in his right mind. See to it that he is.” He walked away before Thomas could think of something to say. 

He ignored him and stayed as far away from the cabin where John had been situated as was possible. Eventually the light went and most of the chores that he was really capable of doing were finished and he was left with no option but to try to sleep. It didn’t work. The itch beneath his skin, the fire of his own shame and anger, would give him no rest. He tried for as long as he was able, shifting restlessly and trying to distract himself. He used to be good at it, at the plantation, even at Bethlam, at lulling his mind blank. But even those tricks seemed to fail him now. He knew why; the potential to ease the feeling in chest was easily within reach. There was some part of him that wanted to see John again, _needed_ to, to say some of the words swirling around his head. It was like his presence on the ship was burning him. He resisted for as long as he was able, but he'd known the moment he'd attempted sleep that it was useless. He growled to himself and pulled himself out of the hammock and to John’s room just as the sun was beginning to crest the horizon. 

John wasn’t asleep when he entered so he didn’t have the satisfaction of waking him. There was an empty bottle at his feet and his shirt was rumpled. He knew just by looking at him, at the fleeting expression of alarm on John's face, that James had been there. Thomas let out a breath. It was almost a relief that James had managed to find some comfort in this mess, Lord knew that Thomas had no right to offer any. He wanted to be annoyed that John had, but couldn’t. That was why he’d insisted so strongly they save him. This was his plan and that it had worked was the only good thing he could find in the whole sorry state of affairs. 

They stared at each other in the gloom and Thomas was glad that John probably couldn’t see how miserable he felt. “I want to know why you didn’t come to me,” he said, embarrassed, in a distant way, at the shake in his voice. It was the thing that he kept coming back to. Over and over. How had he missed John’s every intention so completely? What had he done that made him so untrustworthy? 

John didn’t look at him. “You wouldn’t have listened.” 

“You never even tried!” he said. “After everything, after-” He bit off the end of his sentence to take a steadying breath. “I have never been anything but honest with you. I told you everything and you hid this from me. How long were you working with Billy against us, John?”

“I wasn’t-” John started and stopped to shake his head. “He asked me, before. But I refused him. I didn’t want to undermine you or James. I said _no_. But after you were hurt, I had to _do_ something. I had to find a way out for us. And I found myself without allies so I enlisted him.” 

“Is that what you went to see him about, the day you started training with James?” 

He wasn’t expecting John to answer but the silence stung anyway. That there was not even a token defence hurt more than he expected. He had hoped that John might have some explanation, some way to explain it all away, that didn’t leave Thomas with nothing but the realisation that he was in love with someone who didn’t care about him. 

“I knew that you found love difficult,” he said, heart racing with emotions that were so heightened he no longer knew how to even identify them. He remembered his conversation with Max, the idea that he might be giving all his love, over and over, to someone that had no ability to receive it. His chest ached with the thought. “I thought if I just showed you how much we- I thought you might see, and it might change something. I didn’t expect you to be able to say it back, but I hoped that perhaps in some small way you _felt_ it. But now I see that you never felt anything at all. All the love that I gave, it never touched you at all.”

“Thomas-”

“It’s not the war, John,” he continued, desperate now to have this out so he could leave, and begin to try to find some peace. “I can’t say if we would have ever chosen to walk away, abandon Nassau like this. I understand that you never wanted a war, that you might truly believe that you’ve done the right thing. Perhaps that’s even true. But, what I cannot understand, cannot forgive, is that you did not trust me. You let me bring you into my bed, let me fall in love with you, encourage _James_ to, knowing that you felt nothing back, or so little that it could be cast aside with so little regard.”

John looked at him, his face a mask of confused hurt. “You cannot believe I did what I did from a _lack_ of regard.” 

“What else is it, John?” he asked, voice cracking on his name. “I looked you in the eye and told you I loved you and you left me when I was half dead. You left me to deal with an alliance that had fallen apart, a life’s work gone and with nothing to show for it but that I’d failed in every conceivable way. _Nothing_ I have done for the last ten years was left.” 

“You have James.” 

Thomas took a shuddering breath. “What if it hadn’t had worked?” he asked, his fears finally bubbling to the service. “What if Rackham hadn’t come with a way to get you back? When James and I came to try and rescue you, what then? We’d likely be dead. I truly do not understand how you can have been so selfish.” 

“Rescue me?” John said, and he had the audacity to sound genuinely surprised. 

“Of _course_ we were coming for you!” he shouted. “John, do you think for one second that James would have let you hang? That I would?”

“I betrayed you.” 

“We _loved_ you!” Thomas shouted. “That’s not how this works. You don’t enter into someone’s life like you did and then pretend that what you do doesn’t affect them. You can’t do things on your own. We had no choice, couldn’t have lived with ourselves if you’d have died. It would have killed him.” He looked at the floor. “I couldn’t have let that happen.”

“I don’t understand-”

“No,” he sighed, tired and so miserable with the thought of the ruined state of everything that he wanted to lie down. “You never cared to learn. Never cared to try and find out. You kept yourself back from us and now pretend that somehow you are the noble one in all this.” 

“I didn’t keep anything back,” John said. He sounded genuinely upset which perhaps should have pleased him, but actually just frustrated him more. 

“What do you _mean_?” he asked, incredulous. “You’ve never told us a true thing about your past, when you have all of us. Have _had it_ for months. How are we supposed to trust you when you give nothing away and go behind our backs and against our wishes whenever it suits you?” 

“I didn’t do it for myself,” he said. His eyes were shining, and Thomas wished he believed that they were real tears, that they conveyed some true emotion. 

“You did it for us.” More than one person had said it. He perhaps even believed that John believed it himself. 

“I did it because I love you.”

The words sparked something cold and awful in him. “Don’t you _dare_ ,” he hissed. “How _could_ _you_?” That he would use those words now, in a bid to - what - manipulate him into complying in some way?

John’s face pinched with obvious distress. “Thomas, please-”

“Don’t,” he said, taking a step back and fumbling for the door. “I cannot hear you say that to me now. Not when it’s a week too late for me to ever believe it.”

He turned and fled. 

*****

James watched Thomas storm from John’s make-shift cabin in the early hours of the morning. He’d never seen the expression he wore before. It was a strange mix of fury, upset and fear. He considered going to him, or to John, but decided against it. He was not Thomas and had little skill for diplomacy of this sort, especially when he was so intimately connected to it. Perhaps the issue would resolve itself over the coming days as they went to meet with Teach and Vane. 

He came to regret that train of thinking very soon after it first occurred to him. Thomas continued to refuse to be in the same room, or sometimes even on deck, when John was there. His face would contort when he saw him and moments later there was some reason for him to be elsewhere. John would gaze after him, his face a mask that perhaps he thought hid the pain he felt, but did little but make it clear he was unable to smooth over it. 

When James was with John their conversation drifted to Thomas as though pulled by a tide. John seemed unable to not ask after him, or talk of some story they had shared, like a scab he would not leave to heal. Thomas didn’t mention John at all. That was worse, somehow. James felt pulled in two but unable to do anything but wait for the time when one of them would finally take a step toward the other. He had thought it inevitable they would and yet the longer that it went on the more James began to wonder if he'd badly misread the situation.

He didn’t want to entertain the idea that his life would now be split in two. He knew that neither man would make him choose, but somehow that didn’t help ease the feeling of unrest that coursed through him when he considered Thomas never again smiling at the mention of John. Or never seeing the pleased and satisfied look John got when he made Thomas really laugh. It was selfish, perhaps, to want more than the two of them healthy and with him. But he did. He had seen what was possible between the three of them and he did not want to forget that feeling. He was sure it wasn’t entirely selfish, neither John nor Thomas would truly be happy while this separation continued. In fact, he'd never seen either of them so miserable. But neither also seemed to have any idea - or inclination - to solve the rift. 

He saw little way forward, and certainly not before they dealt with whatever business Teach and Vane had for them. They sailed on, the men making repairs to the ship as they went. But the mood was low, everyone seeming to pick up on the turbulence between Thomas and John; James hadn’t realised how much the crew had come to look to the two of them. It was a different, less direct way, than they looked to him and John, but apparently it was important. No one seemed quite willing to broach the subject, and so they gave both men a wide berth. 

It came to a head suddenly and without warning, as everything concerning John Silver seemed to. James had not imagined that it would be John who made the first move. He’d never seen Thomas hold anything like a grudge before, but in this he seemed determined. His sheer bloody-minded dedication to pretending that John didn't exist would have been almost impressive if it hadn't been driving James half-mad. 

John entered his quarters without knocking, making Thomas start a little where he was going over the books. He looked up, wide-eyed and then back down at his page when he saw who it was. 

“John,” James greeted, into the tense silence that followed. 

“I shall leave you to your business,” Thomas said, standing and making his way around the desk. 

To perhaps everyone’s surprise, John moved to block his path. Thomas stopped his forward momentum abruptly. Annoyance flashed across his face as he stared at John. 

“My business is with you,” he said, voice firm but not without trepidation. His eyes flicked passed Thomas to James and back. “Both of you, I suppose.” 

James’ heart ticked up in his chest, fear crawling up his spine. Was John leaving again? There was something so resolute in his expression that he could not help but fear it. 

“What?” Thomas said, on a heavy sigh. “I have things to attend to and-” 

“You do not want me here,” John said, speaking over him, and James’ heart sank. “You are unable to forgive what I have done.”

Thomas’ jaw tightened, frustration clear, but he didn’t deny John's words. James could feel the way his heart was beating, steady but not unlike a trapped bird. He was reminded of all the other times he’d seen something terrible coming towards him and he’d been unable to do anything to stop it. 

“You will not ask me to leave because you believe James would not want it,” John continued, voice level and reasoned. 

James gripped the sides of his chair. He wanted to speak, to stop this before it happened. But he couldn’t find the words. This was what John did, he reminded himself; things became hard, emotionally, and he ran. He knew it and should have expected nothing else. But hope had kept him from truly envisioning this moment. 

“But you do not want me near you,” John continued, when Thomas didn’t disagree. James knew why he didn’t speak, knew what it was to hold onto your anger like it was the only thing keeping you afloat, but he wanted to shake them both. How could they have let it come to this? “Only, the problem you have, is that I do not want to go.” 

Thomas’ face froze, surprise and a little confusion spreading across it like a cloud. James let out a breath of surprised relief. John's eyes flicked to him for a moment before focusing back on Thomas. But James didn't miss the slightly reproving look in John's eyes, like he knew exactly what James had been thinking and was, while not surprised, a little disappointed in him. James wanted to smile. 

“You do not think you can forgive what I did," John said, voice calm and reasonable, "but I don’t believe that you will always feel that way. And I will do everything in my power to make you remember why you told me you loved me. I am very persistent and utterly resolute that I will not leave either of you again. My heart will not let me.” He swallowed, straightened his spine and looked Thomas directly in the eye. “So, I’ll wait. For a day. A month. A year. I'll wait for you to be ready to let me show you that what I told you when we last spoke is the truth, has _been_ the truth since long before I knew what it even was to truly love someone.”

James held his breath in the silence that followed. He watched as Thomas’ face flickered with emotion, none clear enough to truly decipher. Finally, after what seemed an age, he opened his mouth as though to speak. But at that moment a call went up from outside. 

“Sails!”

***

John wanted to curse, to scream when the call came that they had reached their meeting with Teach. But there was no use. Thomas looked at him, eyes wide and mouth still open as though to speak. 

John swallowed. “Later,” he said, cutting him off. “You can tell me that you don’t want me to do that later and I can tell you that my mind is set and cannot be changed.” He didn’t expect much. He had settled, after James came to him, in the understanding that nothing would be the same. That he still had James’ love was miraculous. He’d been so overwhelmed that he’d believed that it might even be enough. That he could subsist on just that. He knew that what they had would always be a shadow of what James had with Thomas, that that would come first, always. But he was determined for that not to matter. 

But he had known that he was utterly wrong the moment he’d seen Thomas again. Being near him but unable to reach him was unbearable. Being unable to speak with him, unable to make him smile, or hear him read was a torture that John simply didn’t know how to withstand. He considered leaving, it seemed the simplest option, but knew that it was much too late for that. He wouldn’t do it to James, and anyway, he was far too selfish for that. He couldn’t live in a world where Thomas Hamilton thought so poorly of him. Whatever distance he put between them would not rid him of the feeling it left in his chest. 

He had no idea how to make amends, but knew that leaving was the worst thing he could do. Thomas seemed determined to believe that John felt nothing for him. He would just have to show him that wasn’t true. However long that took. 

But that was for later. First, they had other things to attend to. They went to Teach’s ship. He had summoned them after all. They were mostly sure that he didn’t mean to murder them all but the short walk there was tense and silent, anyway, and James' hand remained at the hilt of his sword. 

“You agreed to the fucking deal with that Guthrie bitch?” Teach spat when they were barely seated. 

James sprawled in his seat, affecting something that certainly looked like nonchalance. “We had no way of defeating the Spanish without the deal.”

“And you intend to honour it?” Vane asked, he was sitting back from Teach, a little behind him. That was likely going to be his lot now, guard dog for Teach. John felt a little sorry for him. 

James sighed. “I see little merit in not,” he said. “We have lost the island, even with all four of our names, we are no match for the prosperity that will be offered by Max, Rackhman and the Guthries.” 

“Nassau is lost,” Thomas agreed, resolute. “Or, saved, which is how the world will see it. Disrupting that would put us so firmly in the sights of not just those looking to preserve trade but also those looking to exploit the carefully placed loopholes, that it would not be worth the effort.” 

Teach glared at them. Neither James nor Thomas blinked. It was as though they truly believed what they were saying. Or, rather, that they felt no anger or resentment about what had happened to Nassau. John loved them fiercely in that moment, in all their pride and nerve in the face of Teach’s barely restrained power. 

There was a long and tense silence before Teach sighed and sat back in his seat. “I agree,” he said, with a short nod. “Nassau hasn’t been worth the trouble it costs in years.” John blinked in surprise, eyes flicking to Vane, who made no indication that this position was a surprise to him. “But there’s the rest of the world,” Teach said, looking at James carefully. 

“There is,” James agreed. “Although space for the likes of us grows smaller.” 

That got him a thin smile. “Which is why we need to stick together.” He looked at John and back to James. “Come with us.” It seemed like the words cost him, like he was speaking words that were not of his own making; perhaps Vane was more than just a dog after all. “If the world truly is getting smaller, the number of real pirates is even smaller. We ought to stick together.” 

“You’re suggesting an alliance?” John asked, so surprised that he couldn’t keep quiet. “With us?” 

Teach looked at him, as though trying to gauge the measure of him. John wondered what he saw, as he gave no indication. "You asked me to join you, before this deal. I would have us continue with that agreement," he said, eyes clear and focused. 

“We go to look for the treasure you gave to Billy, to start,” Vane said, face set, hard and immovable. 

John swallowed. “I don’t know where it is,” he said. “If I did, I’d have it already.” 

“We find Billy,” Vane said. “We find that treasure and we can start again. Find another island. Build somewhere new.” 

“We would be a formidable force,” Teach said, reluctant but firm for that. “Few would dare to stand against us.” 

“Or we would paint a target on us,” John said. All eyes turned to him. He swallowed, realising that he was in no position to take such a strong stance on the offer. He had made the decision to follow James and Thomas. This was perhaps the only opportunity they would ever get to start again. Everything they had been working towards might not be gone. He could see the spark of it still burning in Vane. He would never be stopped, would never back down. James could find a much worse ally to restart the fight. 

Thomas was quiet, calculating, when John looked at him. He wouldn’t say anything either; this was James’ decision. 

“It is a fine offer,” James said, quietly into the silence after a moment. “We would be able to achieve great things. Thank you for coming to me with this.” 

Teach smiled. 

“We will discuss how best to continue,” James said, firm but not impolite, “and return within the hour.” 

_Within the hour._ John’s heart sank. There was no discussion to be had. James had made up his mind. He followed behind them as James swept from the room and Thomas followed close behind. They were quiet on the walk to James’ quarters. 

John saw their future stretching out ahead of them. The sea, battles, haul after haul. All paid for in blood. Until they grew too big and civilization came for them again. They would have five years, perhaps, if they were lucky. He took a breath. He could make do with that. He would have to. Perhaps his life might even buy James and Thomas a couple more. 

He closed the door to James’ quarters with a click. It sounded final. Heavy. 

“The men will need some convincing to follow Teach,” he said. “But I think with the promise of getting the treasure, we might be able to convince-”

“I’m not accepting,” James interrupted. 

John stopped. He stopped speaking. He stopped moving toward the desk. He stopped breathing. “What?” he asked, after a long moment. 

His eyes flicked to Thomas, who seemed less surprised but only slightly.

“I find myself unable to continue.” The words were heavy and for the first time John saw how _tired_ James looked. He was older than when they’d first met, of course, but he had aged beyond the few years they’d spent together. The weight he’d been carrying for so long showing clearly on his face. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I find myself _unwilling_ to continue. I could start again, build back to where we were last month. Perhaps it would only take a year or two, but,” he looked between them. “I don’t want to. I am tired. And,” he paused, suddenly seeming uncertain, “I want this.” He gestured between the three of them. “I want us. And that is not possible on the road Teach and Vane would have us walk down. Perhaps that makes me the monster that I have always feared becoming; to step aside and let others tell the story of our lives for us.”

“It makes you human,” Thomas said, smiling softly at him. Love was shining so clearly out of him that it was almost painful to look at him. “James, my love, it makes you the most human I have ever known you to be.”

James blinked and licked his lips. “Then you are satisfied with this decision?”

Thomas smiled again, going to James and gripping his hands tightly. “I would have done whatever you asked,” he said. “But, yes, I am very content with this.” 

“John?” James asked, looking at him. “I had hoped that this would please you.” 

“Please me?” John asked. He felt light, untethered suddenly, like he might be about to float away. 

“Yes,” James said, his face starting to crease into a frown. “I had hoped that you might want to come with us.” 

“With you?” John said, dully, feeling unable to follow what was happening. 

“Oh for goodness sake,” Thomas snapped. “He’s asking if you’ll give up the sea, John. He’s asking if you’ll come with us. If you’ll start a new life.” 

“With you?” John asked, his heart starting to unfurl in his chest like a flower opening to the sun after long months of winter. He smiled, brilliant and happy for what felt like the first time in years.

_TBC_


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe that this has finished at long last. I really hope that you enjoy this final chapter and where it all ends up. Thank you for the comments so far and please, let me know what you think. Comments are absolutely my lifeblood. 
> 
> I'm agarlandoffreshlycuttears over on tumblr if you want to say hi over there.

“The men will need to vote on Teach’s offer,” John said, once he'd managed to gather himself. He looked like he was trying to contain the smile that was lighting his entire face but without much success. James appeared similarly afflicted, despite how they both seemed intent on the job currently at hand. 

Thomas looked at them as some unspoken understanding clearly passed between them. John’s words were met with a sigh, as James rubbed a hand over his face but then nodded. He looked weary at the thought, but no less resigned. It was strange to already hear them talking of the crew as though it were separate to them.

“They’ll want to know what we think they should do.” John sounded like he didn’t want to give this particular opinion, his face pulled into a regretful grimace, as he spoke. 

“I’m sure,” James sighed, his lips drawing into a thin line of disapproval - or perhaps it was regret. “I’m not sure I have counsel for them. To go back to Nassau to find another captain and live in the shadows or follow Teach into what will certainly be great danger, neither option is certain to lead to riches and glory.”

“Well,” Thomas said, cutting in, “perhaps it is well that it is not your decision anymore. If there was a better, more certain option, you could give it. As there is not, don’t heap their fates onto your conscience; if we are to leave, the men will need to learn to make their own decisions.”

James looked pained at the thought, and Thomas understood it, but if he let James direct them he would carry the repercussions of that decision long after they left. He could spear him at least that one heartache. 

John nodded his agreement. “Should we tell them now, before we give our collective decisions to Teach?” 

“Yes,” James said, his voice heavy. Then he gathered himself, straightening, like he was preparing for battle, but didn’t delay walking out of his quarters to gather the men. 

John looked at Thomas, raising his eyebrows. “The men won’t know what to do with themselves. A decision, truly free, without James’ iron will bending them towards his chosen direction? They’ll probably float out here unable to make a choice until they all starve to death.” 

He knew that John was doing, offering a joke, trying to bridge the gap between them. He appreciated the thought. He just wished that it made him feel differently than it did. “Your words, before… the sentiment, it was appreciated.” 

“Appreciated?” John asked, his voice rising in something that sounded like disbelief. 

Thomas squirmed. He didn’t know how to explain how it had made him feel. Other than it _hurt_. He understood that John was trying to make amends, that he wanted to be with Thomas as they had before. He understood that he was sorry for the pain he’d caused. But none of that made Thomas feel differently. It still hurt to look at him. It still made Thomas want to scream in frustration that he’d allowed himself to be so open with someone that hadn’t truly wanted to give the same in return. He simply didn’t know how to build from where they were. 

John was looking at him, his brow pinched. He had to find some words, some explanation. He looked away, unable to meet his eye. “I know you want me to forgive you,” he said, voice tight. “I wish I- I wish that your words changed anything, but… I need _time_ John, I need to learn how to live with what happened.”

“I understand,” John said, swallowing heavily. “If there was something I could do-”

“Just,” Thomas said, putting out a hand. “Wait. I _want_ to- I want us to be-” He cut himself off, not even sure what he wanted to say. Every time he thought about John his emotions got tangled and he wasn’t sure how to have a conversation with him that wouldn’t do more harm than good. He took another steadying breath. “I need time.” 

“Alright,” he said, although he sounded anything but. “I meant what I said, I will give you as much as you need. I’m not going anywhere you are not.” 

The thought felt heavy, less comforting than John probably hoped it did. He nodded, though. “We should go to James, he needs us.”

John paused, like he might be about to say something else, but in the end let out a slow breath and simply nodded. Thomas left without looking back at him. 

***

The news was met with first stunned silence and then a cacophony of noise so loud that understanding any one person was impossible. James waited, watching the crew steadily, until they settled. He then spoke only briefly, giving no explanation for their departure or plans for the future, simply explaining that they would no longer be part of the crew but they had a choice in front of them. He didn’t offer platitudes or promises of better times ahead. He didn’t suggest a particular feeling about the best course of action; he simply wished them well, told them they were a good crew and left it at that. John didn’t speak at all, but nearly every man approached him afterwards, talking in low tones or expressively asking him to reconsider. Thomas watched them with an uneasy feeling in his chest, unsure how to feel. He knew that John was unlikely to be swayed by their pleas not to leave but it left him uneasy, the fear that John would once again decide that he knew better and decide to stay was hard to shake. 

DeGroot approached him a few minutes later. “I knew it was the end the moment you came on board.” 

Thomas looked at him, raising his eyebrows. “Is that so?” he asked, amused, suddenly for the first time in what felt like years. DeGroot had never really warmed to him, but Thomas found himself strangely fond of him, or at least his skills as a seaman, anyway. It was hard not to admire someone with such dedication to finding no humour in anything. 

“Aye,” he said. “It’s a bad omen, having a madman on ship.” 

Thomas laughed, though he knew he wasn’t joking. “Well,” he said, pushing away from where he’d been leaning against the side of the ship and clapping DeGroot on the shoulder with a grin. “I shall miss you, too. Thank you for everything. I wish you luck in finding a new captain.” 

James approached them then, looking at DeGroot with something that wasn’t quite a scowl. “I shall leave the vote to you. I can relay your decision to Teach, but if you prefer to send someone else, that is your right.” 

DeGroot looked at him, and Thomas thought for a moment he might speak, offer some thoughts on James’ leaving. But of course he didn’t. He nodded, just once, and then walked away. 

It took over an hour for the votes to be cast and counted. They could hear the arguments from James’ quarters. They sat in silence, suspended, as they waited for the men to decide their path forward. 

“I hope they’ll at least take us to Nassau if they decide to go with him,” John said, eventually, tone mild.

James laughed, low and short, but it warmed Thomas to hear it anyway. “It’s a long swim if not,” he said, turning to smile at John, private and pleased. Thomas’ heart clenched a little painfully at the sight of it. 

***

The men elected to go back to Nassau and Teach took the disappointment with as much dignity and poise as Thomas could have hoped for. Which was to say there was a great deal of swearing but no actual violence. They left his ship and were making back to Nassau within the hour. It was a solemn mood as they departed his ship. Thomas could not help but feel that he was witnessing the final act of some great Odyssey. Flint and Teach were the last remaining giants among the pirate captains and there was some melancholy in seeing what was sure to be their passing from living men - flawed and brutal but no less great for that - into whatever history would make of them. Thomas found he didn't want to think on what their legacy might become. He had no power to spin that story, perhaps Rackham might play that role, but his part in this tale was over. Not that he _had_ played a part. Not in the end. The thought cut him more deeply than he would have liked to admit, despite knowing that it was best they left now. 

The trip back was short and unusually solemn. Thomas tried to offer what comfort he could to James, but knew he and John shared a different sort of feeling for the ship than he did. He’d only spent a matter of weeks on it, while for John and James it was leaving behind a home of sorts. 

The men took turns in wishing him well, which he appreciated. He didn’t know them well, but would nonetheless miss the camaraderie of it, of having such shared experience with so many men. They would likely experience nothing quite like it again. He tried to soak the feeling in, but it was like he could already feel it slipping away, that the bonds that had started to tie him to the ship and its crew had already been cut. His own mood didn't help, and he found himself preferring to be alone whenever he could manage it. 

The crew seemed genuinely sad that they were leaving, although Thomas found no hint from them of any wider misgivings about what had happened on Nassau over the last few weeks. He found himself opening his mouth to ask them if they realised the implications, trying to understand if they saw the danger and simply didn't care or if they had missed its presence entirely. But the words never came. It didn't seem fair to insert his own feelings on a matter that would no longer affect it. Still, it made him uncomfortable to be around them, as though he were somehow deceiving them by simply pretending that nothing were wrong. 

The men arranged a somewhat impromptu gathering the night before they reached Nassau. They drank and sang, told stories - some of which were even true - about their time with John and James. It was nice a thought, even if neither James nor John seemed to really know what to do with the attention given them. Thomas left them to it. His strange mood lingered and he had no desire to spread it to James when he so rarely had the opportunity to appreciate social gatherings. 

They used the rest of their time getting back to the island to begin to plan what they would do next. It was never going to be simple for Captain Flint and Long John Silver to walk away from the sea. John would have had them leave the moment the decision was made, but that was not James’ way; he needed a plan, something to aim for. But first, he needed to ensure that the deal was truly being enacted before he did anything else. They agreed to make some final visits before they decided where they would go once Captain Flint disappeared from Nassau and the sea forever. 

The morning they made port John and James stood on deck, watching the island come closer. It was more for the men than themselves, a final show of unity and something that might act as a final ending to their story. The men were quiet, unusually so, as they dropped anchor. They stood on deck, watching as James and John prepared to depart. Neither of them had elected to take much from the ship, James had a single book tucked under his arm and John had nothing at all. It was sad, almost, to think of how little they had to physically show for their time aboard. The silence on deck lasted until the three of them had climbed onto the boat waiting to take them to the beach. 

John got into the boat last, his face pinched with some strange emotion. Thomas suspected - though of course John would never say for sure - that _The Walrus_ was the first place he’d truly belonged in his life. Thomas felt a pang of empathy for him and wished that he could bring himself to offer some comfort. He balled his hands into fists in his lap instead and held his tongue. John looked back at the men and nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. This seemed to act as some signal, for the men broke their silence and let out a series of shouts, catcalls and even a few shanties as they began to row away. James turned to look at Thomas and John in turn and smiled. John laughed, waving once to the departing ship, and watching it until they made land and had to turn to walk up the beach. 

Thus they embarked on a strange tour of their former allies, conducting meetings that seemed to act as an extended goodbye to a life that Thomas had barely even begun to live. It weighed heaviest on James, who seemed graver at every meeting. John was quiet, perhaps because he’d never had to say goodbye to people he once thought of as friends before. He sat silent and pensive in their meetings with both Max and Rackham. Thomas didn’t ask him how he felt about it, and John skirted around him when they were together, not quite meeting his eye. 

On their final morning, Billy Bones appeared on the beach just as they were preparing to depart Nassau for the last time. James had barely spoken the entire morning and while John had tried to fill the silences with his usual genial chatter, the mood was heavy. They'd found passage to their final set of meetings in Maroon and were about to embark for their waiting ship when Billy's unmistakable silhouette appeared ahead of them. He’d been lying low since news had spread about him having the treasure. Thomas was surprised that he came to see them at all. There was almost as little room for Billy in the new order on the island than Flint and Long John Silver, and he'd expected him to hide until he was sure they were gone. 

“Vane’s looking for you,” John said by way of greeting, watching him steadily as he approached them down the beach. He was stiff and his voice was cool. Thomas wasn't exactly expecting a friendly embrace between them, but he was a little surprised by the lack of warmth in either of their demeanours. He felt a little pleased with that, the idea that John held affection for the man who had helped him betray them sat poorly with him, perhaps because of the lingering worry that John would do it again. 

Billy nodded. “So I’ve heard.” He seemed unconcerned, or at least determined to appear that way. He held out his hand, a large and heavy-looking bag dangling from his fingers. “I wanted to give you this, as a token, before you left.” 

James glared at him, even as Thomas reached out to take the bag. “This isn’t even a fifth of what you’ve taken from us,” James snapped, eyes sharp and dangerous.

“You’re welcome to come for the rest of it,” Billy said, standing tall and unafraid. 

Truly none of them had voiced any desire to retrieve the treasure that John had given to Billy. James had even gone so far as to point out that if anyone was likely to use it for its intended use of protecting Nassau it was Billy. But Thomas could tell the taunt and the blatant pleasure Billy took in that fact that James could no longer use his name to make his will reality, stung James. His face tightened, his glare intensifying as his entire body tensed, as though preparing for an attack.

“You know, Billy,” John said, idly, stilling James before he could do anything, “I think I just might.” He smiled, thin lipped and suddenly all malice. It was a remarkable transformation. Long John Silver appearing one last time on the beach of Nassau. “One day,” he said, leaning in, “I shall be back to take what was mine. Keep an eye out for me.” 

With that he turned and walked away. James, looking suddenly much brighter at Billy’s startled expression, nodded. “Have a good life, Billy.” 

They turned together and left. None of them looked back as they boarded a ship taking them to the final destination they would visit as part of their old lives. 

***

Maroon felt almost like a safe haven for Thomas. The people’s hospitality had been exceptional and he had none of the bad experiences of James to taint it for him. Still, their visit wasn’t pleasurable. The Queen and Madi both seemed highly disquieted by the turn in their fortunes. Their meeting with them was short and tense, none of them having much hope to offer for the future, although all promised that if they were needed and could offer aid they would try. But it was clear there was little practical support they could offer. Indeed, with Vane also now unlikely to be able to hold up their bargain, the Maroon’s position seemed more precarious than ever. Rackham’s assurances were one thing, but it was quite clear that Eleanor and her grandfather were the real powers in Nassau now. Madi was making plans to visit her, see if they might spark some connection. It was the best plan there was and Thomas spent some time with her, reviewing the new treaty they had been sent.

By the time he emerged it was dark and James was nowhere to be found. It took some searching before he found him, sitting alone on the beach. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, coming to sit with him on the soft sand and reaching for him. The moon was high, washing everything silver and casting a soft light over the water. 

He hummed, leaning into Thomas’ hands where they ran through his hair. It was starting to fall across his forehead and just beginning to show that it would curl at the ends. Like James McGraw was slowly starting to re-emerge before his very eyes. Thomas liked to get his hands in it as often as possible. 

“The final night as Flint,” he said, when James didn’t speak. “Have you considered your new name?” 

James finally turned to smile at him. “Nothing wrong with Smith, is there?” 

Thomas laughed, unexpected but pleased. “James Smith?” 

“An unremarkable name for an unremarkable life,” he said with a shrug. 

“You know there is nothing about you that could ever be called unremarkable,” Thomas said, hoping that James knew how keenly he meant it. 

He nodded before hanging his head. “I’m not sure-” he started and then stopped, as though considering his words carefully. “I’m not sure that I can stand much more in the way of remarkable, if I’m honest. I’d like… some quiet.”

Thomas frowned at his tone. “You cannot think I would think poorly of you for that, James,” he said. “You deserve all the peace there is to find. You deserve to rest. You deserve to make your life into whatever you wish it to be. You do not owe anyone anything anymore. Rest now, if that’s what you want.” 

James took a halting breath. “I never thought-” He breathed deep and tried again. “I really thought that I would never be free of him; I thought Flint would consume me whole. I welcomed it, even. Now…” He trailed off and looked out at the sea. “To know that I never have to go out on the _fucking sea_ ever again…” He choked off his words before gathering himself. “I feel nothing but relief, and I know that is terrible. I had such- The things I am capable of, I should use what skills I have at my disposal. It seems to be a sin to waste them, to not rise to the position that I could, but I-”

“James,” Thomas said, cutting him off firmly and gripping his arm. “You have done _enough_. You gave everything. You fought harder and longer than anyone has any right to expect. _Rest_. Let the fact that England couldn’t kill you in the end be your final victory. Let your peace and your happiness be the thing that spites them.” 

James took another breath, tears filling his eyes and nodded, despite it being clear in every line of his face that he was torn in two by the idea. He blinked and a few tears streaked down his cheeks. Thomas’ heart stuttered in his chest. He leant forward, kissing them from his face, gently as he could. 

“We will build such a life together, James,” he promised. “There will be such love and happiness there. We will do it because they wanted us to hide in shame or die trying to fight them. We will do it for Miranda. We will do it because we owe it to _ourselves_. Our love deserves a chance to flourish, to _live_.” 

James turned in his arms, kissing him heatedly, face wet with tears. Thomas held him tightly, poured every ouch of love he had for him into the embrace. They stayed there on the beach, trading kisses and holding one another until the sun rose. And when they walked back to find John, hand in hand, Flint was no more. 

****

They had elected to head for the Americas. It seemed the place with the most opportunity and least likely for them to meet anyone that knew them. True to his word, James went by the name of Smith. Thomas privately thought that he would settle on something else eventually, just as his desire for rest would only last so long. He would happily indulge him for several decades of idleness if that were what he wanted, but he suspected it would not be. But there was time. They first needed to find somewhere that they would be able to stay longer than a few days. 

James and John spent an evening in Maroon sketching out a route that would allow them to see the frontiers, find somewhere that spoke to them, before they settled. The money that Billy had given them, along with the last of the money from their hauls, would be enough to sustain them for long enough to find and buy some land, if that was what they decided to do. It was the vaguest of plans. But it would be enough to keep them moving, while they settled into this new way of living. 

John seemed almost as unbothered by the change as James was bothered. They balanced each other. As for Thomas, he no longer knew what he wanted. He’d not been given many options about the direction of his life before. Even before his life in London had been so thoroughly destroyed, there was a clear path set out for him by his father. He might have chosen to take as many detours on that route as possible, but he had never truly imagined not following it. Then the last ten years he’d had no choices at all. So he left them to their planning, happy to be guided until he could divine some desire to offer them. 

The final morning on Maroon was a sombre affair. James spoke little, wrung out from their night on the beach. John watched them, clearly understanding that something had happened, but he didn't enquire about what it was. Instead he stayed a silent presence at James’ side. Thomas watched as James leant into him, like he was drawing strength from him. It was gratifying to see that he had such support. 

“Good morning, Thomas,” John said, finally turning to look at him and offering a small smile, as they gathered their things. 

Thomas froze, words catching in his chest. Things had eased, a little, since John’s confession but that was not to say that they weren’t still stilted and strange. Thomas found he no longer knew how to be around him. He found idle chatter grating but the thought of anything more intimate terrified him. It left them at a stalemate, one that Thomas wished he knew how to break but found himself unable to. It hadn’t much mattered until then; things had been much too busy for the space between them to be so obvious. 

He was caught between John and James’ gazes, as they waited for him to reply. He managed to force a nod of acknowledgement before turning to walk briskly to where they’d left their merger possessions. 

James arrived a few minutes later, not bothering to announce himself before entering. Thomas looked up from where he’d been sitting, contemplating his own hands. He felt embarrassed at his own behaviour, knew he was being ridiculous. He just didn’t seem able to stop it. 

“Are you planning to talk to him on this journey?” James asked, his voice was soft, not accusing or annoyed. 

Thomas levelled him with a blank look. “I’ve spoken to him.” 

“A couple of words when it couldn’t otherwise be avoided. I mean conversation.” 

“Yes,” he said, looking away. Then added more truthfully, “I don’t know.” 

James sighed and came to sit next to him. “This will likely be a long journey in that case. I know you’re hurt, we all are. But this is not like you.”

“I know,” he said, defeated. “I’m just- I’m so _tired_.” 

James wrapped an arm around his shoulders bringing him close. Thomas let out a breath, relieved at the offer of comfort even though he knew well that James couldn’t possibly understand what he meant. 

“We’ve all been through too much these last few years,” James said, speaking into his hair and dropping a kiss on his head. 

Thomas huffed an unamused laugh. “Do you know how much happened to me in the decade before this?” he asked, voice tight. “Almost nothing. Some torture, some very intensive gardening. But nothing like this. No one even really spoke to me. And then...” He shook his head. “Was your last ten years all like this?” 

“Well,” James said, seeming suddenly tense, “these past months have been more eventful than some. But, yes, it's not been dissimilar.” 

Thomas shook his head again. “I don’t know how you did it,” he said. “I just… I find myself without the energy for it. I don’t want to deal with him. I know I ought to find a way through our issues so we can meet whatever’s coming, but I just- _I can’t_. I simply don’t have it in me.”

“You nearly died less than a fortnight ago,” James said, gently. “You’re allowed to rest. It just pains me to see you both so unhappy.” 

“I know,” Thomas said, feeling more wretched than before the conversation had begun. He hated the persistent feeling in his chest, how bitter it turned whenever he thought of John, the tight way his skin itched when the other man was in the room. He wanted it to stop. He just didn’t know how to make it. 

“What do you want?” James asked into the silence. “Truly, what would you like to happen between the three of us now?” 

“I don’t know,” he said, dropping his head and sighing. “I wish I could go back to how it was before we left Nassau- I was so _happy_. I think that might be the problem. I resent him for taking that away from us.” 

James’ hand stroked through his hair for a moment. “I think that might have been more England and Rogers than John.” 

“I shouldn’t have told him I loved him,” he said, ignoring James’ probably very reasonable point. “I keep thinking about it and I just feel so _stupid_.” 

“Don’t,” James said, voice tight. “Don’t regret that. That is who you are. You feel everything keenly and I would not have you any other way. You brought us together, you built this for us. Please don’t rewrite it now because you’re hurt. You are not at fault.” 

He swallowed. He felt terrible for doing this to James. He had given up everything for them both and Thomas was making it all so much harder. “I’ll try,” he said, closing his eyes. “I will try to behave better around him. I want you to be happy and so I will try.” 

“I know,” James said, kissing him again. “I know.”

***

The trip from Maroon was mercifully short. Thomas used it to force himself to become accustomed to being in John’s presence, to exchange pleasantries. In return John gave him space, only speaking to him when he had to, or when it would have been too strange not to acknowledge him. It was a peace, of sorts, and made things easier for James at least. 

It continued as they undertook the next stage of their journey inland. Thomas wasn’t sure what James was looking for. What any of them were looking for. They didn’t linger in any one place. A night or two at most. During the days they weren’t travelling they visited the town they’d stayed in. Each morning James would announce his plans and Thomas and John would look at each other until one of them offered to accompany him. When it was John, Thomas spent his days alone. He didn’t seek company, staying in their rooms or sometimes wandering the town aimlessly. He felt adrift, a little like when he got lost in his own mind, only not so extreme. 

His every step felt heavy with grief. It was like he could feel everything, every last emotion he’d pushed down or not had time to truly feel. The last ten years’ of loss and pain, all weighed on him in a way he’d just never had time to let it before. He longed for Miranda. To see her smile. To hear her laugh. To ask her advice. His eyes would fill with tears if he let himself linger on those thoughts too long. 

He wasn’t sure if it was just the sudden idleness that had brought this on. His life had been too brutal, his survival taking his entire focus, over the last decade for anything else. Or perhaps it was losing the life he’d thought he was building. Maybe it was just one loss too many and now he was broken beyond repair. With nothing to distract him during the days, nothing to plan for, he felt so adrift that he was scared he might drown. Being with James helped. But being with John made him feel more alone than he had ever done. He hated it. He suspected that John knew something was wrong, he had started to give him lingering looks when Thomas would return from a walk, feeling more wretched than before he left. If James suspected, he said nothing. But Thomas thought he did, for he would linger close to him, his touches coming more frequently. He was offering comfort in the ways he knew how. 

He should have known that John wouldn’t be able to keep to his promise. He was waiting for him when he returned from a walk a fortnight after they arrived in Carolina. “I got you this,” John said, holding out a book. He looked agitated, but firm in his conviction. 

Thomas sighed, frustration in his chest flaring. He didn’t want to take the book, absurdly annoyed that John had even offered it. It seemed a defeat, somehow, to accept a gift - a peace offering - from John. He wrestled with himself for a moment before reaching out and taking it gingerly in his hands. He nodded his acknowledgement. 

“I don’t think you’ve read that one yet, the seller said-”

“Right,” he cut in, his nerves grating at every word out of John’s mouth. 

He looked hurt for a moment, face flashing with pain, before he closed his mouth. He paused only a moment before trying again. “I just thought you might like it. You might even...” He trailed off, licked his lips and gathered himself. “I thought you might even perhaps read it to us.” 

“It’s a book, John,” Thomas snapped. “It’s not going to change anything.” 

“Thomas,” he said, clearly attempting to keep his voice level. “I’m _aware_ it’s just a book, but I’m trying to-”

“To what?” he snapped. “Bribe my good will?” 

Irritation flashed across John’s face and Thomas was absurdly pleased with himself for it. “To get us back to some sense of what we had before,” he gritted out, all forced calm. 

“ _Why_?” he asked. “Why are you doing this? I’ve asked you to leave me alone, and you’ve ignored me. So I can only assume that whatever this is, it’s not for me at all. It’s for you and I find that I have very little care to humour you in it.” 

“Why am I trying to win back your favour?” John asked, ignoring the rest of what he said, probably because he had no reply that would make him sound better. “I’m doing it because _I love you_ and it pains me that you do not want me in your presence.”

“Don’t,” Thomas said, his heart squeezing uncomfortably. “Don’t say that.” 

“Don’t say that I love you?” John asked, face perhaps a little triumphant. “But it is how I feel. I love you and I will continue to tell you that I do until you believe me.” 

“Stop it,” he said, but his voice came out weak, his chest too tight to make them louder. There was a strange mix of emotions in his chest, making it hard to speak. He wanted to flinch away from John saying the words. He reminded himself forcibly that John might be saying them for some ulterior motive, or worse, out of pity. But his heart didn’t seem to understand that, it fluttered dangerously at the sound of them, so longed for, on John’s lips. 

“I don’t say it to cause you distress,” John said, stepping closer. Thomas wanted to back away, but he also wanted to sway into him. He fought with himself and ended up immobile. “I say it because I was foolish to not say it the moment I first felt it. I would have, I would have told you before we even came back to James, but you hadn’t taught me how yet. I didn’t know I even could.” 

“Stop,” he said, his heart beating pathetically in his chest. His hands balled into fists to stop them from shaking. He so desperately wanted to sink into the comfort of John's words. But he couldn't. Part of himself - pride or self preservation - wouldn't let him. 

“I feel it every day,” he said. “Every time I think of you. I would tell you every moment if I could. I would tell everyone I meet, if it would please you to hear it. Loving you, loving James, it’s the proudest accomplishment of my life.”

He shook his head. “I’m not one of your crew,” he said, voice thick, “you cannot spin your pretty stories and expect to bend me to your will.” 

John smiled. “I know,” he said. “Which is why I’m only telling you the truth.” He took another step towards him, voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me what I must do. What I should say. I would do anything. You _know_ I would. Tell me what you want from me.” 

He opened his mouth to tell him to leave. To say that he wanted him gone. But he couldn’t. They both knew that wasn’t true. He reached out instead, hand tangling in John’s shirt. He _ached_ for him, with the desire to pull him close. But he couldn’t. He didn’t know how to let go of the anger in his chest. The hurt at being left. The fear that it would happen again. John’s breath caught and held at Thomas’ touch. He swayed forward, craning up so he could rest his forehead to Thomas’. They breathed the same air for long moments, their breathing a little ragged. 

“I’m sorry I left,” John whispered. “I thought you were dead and a part of me…” He swallowed heavily. “I think I went mad with it. I would have done anything to keep you both safe. I know why it hurt you and I can promise not to do it again, but I think we both know that it would be a lie. That is what it is to be loved by someone like me, Thomas, I am selfish and I will not have harm come to you. Even if you seek it out. You have to choose if you still want to give me your love, now that you’ve really seen me.” 

“I always saw you,” Thomas said, his words quiet, but no less true for that. “I knew what you were capable of. I just should have found a way to stop you.” 

“I’m not sorry that you didn’t.” 

He nodded. “Thank you,” he said, pulling back. “For not lying about your remorse.” 

John nodded, doing a poor job of hiding his disappointment at the loss of contact. “I will try to only ever speak the truth to you, Thomas.” 

“I know,” he said. “Thank you.” He had, for the first time since he’d woken up in Maroon and seen John leaving, the desire to reach for him and pull him into a kiss. To hold him close. It was so strong that it made him sway in place. His hands flexed uselessly at his sides. 

“Good night, then,” John said, apparently realising that the moment was over. 

“I appreciate the thought,” Thomas said, lifting the book and swallowing down all the other words that wanted to pour out of him. “It was kind of you.” 

John smiled, a little sad, but pleased under that for the acknowledgement. He nodded and stepped quickly out of the room. 

Thomas let out a slow breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He ran a hand over his face and found himself almost wanting to smile. It was like some small weight that had been pressing on his chest had eased. 

Progress, he thought, relieved and a little terrified at once. 

***

John was used to the feeling of drifting from place to place. It had been about the most permanent fact of his life for as long as he could remember. He’d hardly ever done it with companions before. It was both more difficult and infinitely more pleasant. Or it would be, if John’s heart would stop aching at the mere thought of one of them. It was a constant sort of discomfort, one he found himself both unable to ignore nor discern a way to heal. 

James left them to their discord for three weeks. John was privately surprised that he resisted interfering for as long as he did. They were sharing a room, as the inn only had one to spare, when James finally found the end of his patience. The evening had dragged on, awkward and mostly silent, until James cleared his throat and straightened, like he used to when he was about to deliver a rallying speech aboard _The Walrus_. John turned to him almost holding his breath, like he was awaiting orders. 

“I would like some time alone,” he said, his voice all forced casualness. 

“Alone?” John asked, genuinely surprised. “Where are you going?” 

“Nowhere,” he replied, eyes flicking between John and Thomas, “I’m staying here. You two will need to find other ways to occupy yourselves for the rest of the evening.”

As ploys to ensure Thomas and John spent time alone, it wasn’t the strongest plan James had ever attempted to enact. Not that John couldn’t understand his frustration, the strained tension that hung over them like a blanket was not what James had given up a war for. John wished that he knew what else to do, but Thomas was no less stubborn than he and James, and John had tried almost every trick he could think of already to no avail. 

“You’re throwing us out of our own room?” Thomas asked, sounding a little affronted. 

“Yes,” James said, easy but immovable. “You’re both very resourceful, I’m sure you can find something to occupy yourselves.” 

It looked for a moment like Thomas might argue, but the fight seemed to have gone out of him since John had returned. So he simply sighed and nodded his agreement rather than speaking, as he had almost consistently since they left Maroon. His apathy worried John almost more than the rift between them. The shadow of a man that travelled with them was not the Thomas he’d known and the thought that it was _him_ that was somehow to blame sat like a stone on his chest. 

They were ushered out of the room just a few moments later. Thomas paused outside the door, as though waiting for John to decide which way to go so he could go in the opposite direction. Letting him do that would have been the sensible thing to do. But no one had ever accused John of being sensible. Besides, James’ order might not have been verbal, but it was no less commanding for that: _fix this._ John knew he had to at least _try_. He would never truly be able to make up to James what he'd taken from him, but he could do his best to make him happy in anyway he could. 

“Walk with me,” he said, surprising himself at how casual he managed to sound.

Thomas looked at him, clearly wanting to decline, after the initial shock. John waited patiently, watching the internal struggle play out across Thomas’ face. 

“Please,” John added, long ago having given up any pride. 

“Alright,” Thomas breathed, giving in despite his apparent better instincts. John would take it. Better reluctant and together than alone. 

They were silent as they left the inn. The town was small, far enough inland that they could no longer feel the breeze from the sea. It was a stifling heat that hung in the air, but it was at last starting to cool as the sun dipped. They turned at random, nowhere to go, but not wanting to remain still. The movement managed to mask the tension for a little while, but John could feel it weighing on him. It pressed down uncomfortably until he was forced to speak. He had always been the first to break, and he was in no mind to change that habit now and have them never speak again. 

“You’re not used to travelling like this,” John said, hoping that it might break the tension that was starting to stifle him. 

Thomas looked at him a moment before he flicked his eyes away again. “Not without a purpose. When we first met-” He cut himself off, perhaps not wanting to talk of their shared history. “That was the only time I’d spent so much time on the road without a specific destination in mind.”

He nodded. “It gets easier,” he promised. “It can be freeing.” 

He received no response. He thought for a moment, trying to decide how reckless he felt. There was such a delicate balance between the three of them, and it felt like any movement might send it the wrong way and tip them into disaster. It was probably wisest to leave well enough alone, to let Thomas work through his feelings until he came to a decision. But there was no telling when that might be and John would never forgive himself if Thomas came to the decision to end what was between them and John hadn’t even _tried_. Besides, James was growing weary, and he had no desire to continue in this painful limbo until the patience James had afforded him to fix what was broken between him and Thomas ran out. 

“You’re not used to this, either, are you?” he asked, trying to keep his tone mild, despite the way his heart was starting to hammer in his chest. 

“What?” Thomas asked, apparently genuinely confused. 

John tried to force a cavalier smile. “No longer liking someone you used to care for.” 

That made Thomas break his stride. “I don’t-” he started. 

“Don’t spare my feelings,” John cut in, suddenly desperate not to hear any platitudes. It was time they had it out, spoke plainly so they might decide how best to continue. They owed James - each other - nothing less. 

They were on the main street now. It was quiet, it being a small town and late. John thought it was probably not the place for the conversation they were about to have. But he’d started it now and he may never find the courage again if he stopped. 

“Trust me when I say that was not my intent.” Thomas’ tone was so haughty, so _him_ , that John laughed, unexpected and sharp. Thomas’ mouth quirked. “I mean it.” He sighed, his shoulders dropping in something like defeat. John’s heart clenched in terror at the thought of what he was about to say. “To be honest, I think I’m mad at myself more than you at this point.” 

“I somehow doubt that,” John said, not wanting to argue but also not wanting Thomas to lie to him. His heart continued to pound in his chest. He forced himself to continue to walk, to act as though he were unaffected. He didn’t want to risk stopping Thomas from talking, it was more than he’d said to John in weeks. 

Thomas smiled, a little bitter. “I mean it,” he said. “I’ve had a lot of time to think these past weeks - too much, probably. But I understand now why you did what you did and the blame must lie with me; I should have seen the signs.” He was silent a beat. “That night we found out the Spanish were coming, you were going to ask me something. Was it to stop?” 

John froze, completely taken aback by the question. “I-” he started, fully intending to lie. He swallowed down the desire, knowing that he had to keep his promise if it was going to work between them. “Yes.” 

Thomas hung his head for a moment, letting out a breath. “I knew, I think, that you would eventually come to the end of your will to fight our war. I should have done something about it rather than leaving you to think you were alone in your concerns.”

John’s throat was suddenly tight. “You believed in it,” he said, voice thick with the emotion that seemed to be choking him suddenly. “I didn’t want you to have to choose.” 

“You didn’t trust us to pick you, you mean.” 

Again he swallowed the lie that rose to his lips. “That too.”

“I-” Thomas started. He faltered and John forced himself to remain quiet while he gathered his words. “I’ve also been thinking about what happened, and why I’ve been so angry.” 

He nodded, bracing himself for Thomas to explain what John had known for weeks: that he was angry because he now knew what he’d fallen in love with. Knew that John was not worth his affections. That he wasn’t worth James’ and that he wanted to cut his losses as soon as possible. He was trying to formulate some response, some deal that would allow him to stay at their side, when Thomas spoke again, cutting all thoughts off abruptly.

“I was selfish,” he sighed, and it was John’s turn to falter, his head whipping to the side to look at Thomas. “Waking up and seeing that my whole world had fallen apart again, that I’d steered it right into the rocks without even realising it, I’ve been…” 

“I don’t understand,” John said, watching Thomas’ face, but he couldn’t decipher what his expression meant. 

“After London,” he said, “after James ‘died’ at sea - I realised that I’d put my desperation for what I did to matter before the people I loved. And then waking up to see you gone, most likely dead, and the war over… I knew I’d somehow done it again. I’d learnt nothing.” He turned to John, taking a breath, as though to steady himself. “I should have seen how miserable you were.” He let out a breath, ragged and John could see to his horror that Thomas’ eyes were filled with tears. “John, I’m _sorry_. I was so desperate to pretend that what had happened to me had no bearing on my decisions, to not contemplate my past, that I put too much pressure on you. You didn’t want to be in our war, you told me over and over that you would have preferred to be alone. I didn’t listen and I destroyed James’ life - my life - perhaps even Nassau’s entire future. _Again._ And then I’ve spent the past month blaming you for it. I should never have bullied you into doing what I knew all along you did not want. I'm sorry.” 

It was the last thing that John had expected him to say. His heart was still hammering in his chest but for entirely different reasons now. It _ached_ to hear Thomas speak like that. He sounded wretched and bitter with himself. “Please stop,” he whispered. “Don’t take back making me face up to what I’d always wanted.” He stepped forward, hands reaching for Thomas before he could stop them. They found his wrists, gripped hard, bringing them to a halt in the middle of the street. “You _saved_ me. You saved James. You brought us together. What happened, it wasn’t your fault. _I_ made the choices I made, for better or worse. James chose his path. You are just one man.” He tried to smile. “However brilliant you are, you cannot claim credit for the mess that has been made of Nassau, nor of my life. I did it all alone.” 

“But you tried to talk to me, and I made you feel-”

“ _You_ never made me feel anything but wanted,” he cut in. “I didn’t want to disappoint you. But it was my cowardice to not try. My selfishness because you might have talked me out of it.”

Thomas looked away. 

“Thomas,” he said, trying and failing to catch his eye. “ _Tom,_ _look at me_.” The use of the shortened name worked just as he knew it would and Thomas finally met his eye. “I would rather you hate me for the rest of my life than take the blame on yourself. Do you understand me?” 

Thomas’ eyes blazed for a moment and then all at once he was kissing John, his whole body knocking into him, unbalancing him for a moment as John attempted to catch him. The intensity of the kiss, the desperation of the last few weeks, all built and caught fire under John’s skin in mere moments. He kissed him fiercely, wanting to press himself into his skin. But it wasn’t enough, he needed more. 

He turned, looking around wildly for a moment. Then he pulled Thomas roughly by the arm into the closest semi-private place he could see. The narrow alley between two rows of houses was dark and quiet. His skin prickled with heat as he walked; he could hear Thomas’ footsteps, his breathing, behind him. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. When they were out of view from the street he turned, pulling Thomas to him and then pushing back against the wall. Thomas’ breath caught in his chest as he knocked into the wood. 

John closed the distance between them, pouring himself into the kiss, willing Thomas to understand how he felt, how keenly he’d missed him. Thomas pressed back into him, some dam in him seeming to have broken. 

“Do you have any _idea_ ,” John said, voice low, when he pulled back, “what it’s felt like these past weeks, to have you close and not be able to touch you like this?”

Thomas’ breath hitched. He shook his head. “I-” he started, his breath catching in his chest. “I’m sorry-”

John kissed him again, hating the sound of remorse in his voice and trying to kiss it from his lips. He didn’t want to linger on the topic. He needed to show that he had always wanted him, that whatever nonsense Thomas had managed to convince himself of when it came to John’s desire to be with him, was entirely false. 

He looked up at him, smiled, suddenly reminded of the last time they’d been in an alley in this position. “Do you remember when we were doing this in pretence?” he asked, slow, taking his time now to lean into Thomas, to press himself as close as possible. 

Thomas’ eyes fluttered but he nodded, just once. 

“It drove me crazy,” he confided. “To have you, to show the world how I felt, but not be able to let _you_ see it.” He kissed along his jaw, leaning up to whisper into his ear. “I liked it, you know, all those people thinking you were mine? I wanted them to know, not just because it might keep you safe, but because it made me feel…” He cut off so he could kiss a line along Thomas’ throat. Thomas moaned softly, arching his neck to allow him better access. “It felt so _good_ to have you at my side. I couldn’t believe you couldn’t see that. Couldn't see how much I wanted you. How much I wanted you to touch me.” He pushed forward, rubbing himself against Thomas. They both let out a hitched breath. “That night in the alley, I wanted you so much. Your hand was so close, it was like I could already feel it wrapped around my cock.” 

Thomas let out a stuttered breath, bucking against John. He smiled at the effect of his words, leaning in to kiss him again. 

“Perhaps it was better that you didn’t,” he breathed, when he pulled back. “I think if you had I wouldn’t have stopped, Paxton watching us or not. I’d wanted you for so long and you were such a fucking _tease_ about it.”

Thomas groaned into his mouth. “I wanted to,” he said. “I thought about nothing else for _days_ afterwards.” 

“You did?” he asked, moving his hand down Thomas’ body to his trousers, slowly starting to unfasten them. “I was hard before I even pinned you to the wall, did you know that? Since before we left the tavern. I wanted you. Had wanted you since that night you first told me you had wanted to kiss me.”

“ _John_ ,” Thomas groaned, as John finally managed to get his trousers open to slip his hand inside. “Wait,” he panted, suddenly, pushing him back. 

Ice crawled up his spine as he pulled back, terrified that he’d overstepped, but Thomas was reaching for him the moment he took a step back. His hands fumbled with the fastening of John’s trousers, his movements frantic. Thomas let out a sigh of relief as he slipped his hand inside, his eyes fluttering shut in apparent relief at being able to touch John. 

It was too much, John pressed forward, kissing at his throat, trying to gain access to more skin. He tugged, hard, when Thomas' shirt wouldn’t give way to allow him to kiss along his collarbone. There was a slightly alarming ripping sound, but Thomas just groaned so John didn’t let up his kisses. 

“I’ve missed you,” Thomas breathed, as John finally made his way back to his mouth to kiss him. 

He sagged into him, relief flooding him at the admission. “I missed you,” he agreed, pushing closer to him, pressing them together at every point he could manage it. 

“Don’t leave me again,” Thomas whispered, like the words hurt. 

“Never,” he promised, never having wanted to comply with a request more. “I meant it, Thomas, I will never willingly leave your side again. I will be with you, always.” 

Thomas’ eyes were screwed shut as though trying to soak John’s words directly into his skin. 

When Thomas moved his hand back into John’s trousers to stroke him, his hand was tight and hot. John sucked in a breath in sudden elation at the feeling. He moved, tugging at their clothes until he could press himself against Thomas, their hands knocking together as he went to take Thomas in the same way as he was stroking John. They kissed, desperate and sloppy, as they worked each other. It was quick, uncoordinated, all the feeling of the past weeks mounting and then cresting between them until they were spilling messily onto each other's hands. 

John surged forward, capturing Thomas’ mouth as he came, swallowing their moans. They stayed that way, panting for long moments. Then all at once Thomas let out something that might have been called a giggle. 

John pulled back to look up at him, confused. Thomas let out another sound of mirth, only just managing to stifle it. “I’m sorry,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’m just… That was…” 

“Yes,” John agreed, his breathing still a little fast, but he smiled. “It was.” 

When Thomas leant down to kiss him again, something tight in John’s chest loosened. There had been a chance that the last few minutes were nothing more than the bubbling over of tensions and not the end to Thomas’ enforced exile from him. But the kiss was too gentle, too packed with feeling, to be anything so fleeting. 

“We should probably not linger,” Thomas said, resting his forehead to John’s, he sounded regretful. 

John pulled back reluctantly. He was right, they didn’t know the town and having to fight their way out because they were discovered together, didn’t appeal to him. But he couldn’t help but lean back in almost immediately to kiss him again, already missing the proximity. Thomas smiled against his lips. 

They went back to the inn. They didn’t bother to pretend that James had really meant he wanted to be alone. Of course, they were proved right when James looked up and smiled as they entered, still pressed as close as they could get without actually holding onto one another. 

James watched them for a moment, a single eyebrow rising as he took in Thomas’ ripped shirt and John’s dishevelled hair. “Good night, gentlemen?” he asked, mildly.

Thomas smiled, beautiful and flushed in the light of the fire. John couldn’t help but reach for him, taking his hand and tugging him close. He placed a kiss on Thomas’ skin, his heart still hammering with joy at being allowed to. When he turned back to James the other man was smiling so happily that John felt something in his chest creak alarmingly. Surely no one ought to be so happy. 

“I do hope you are planning to explain what you’ve been up to,” James said, sprawling back in his chair. 

Thomas shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said, turning to smile at John. “But I think that might be better saved for when I’m able to reenact it otherwise I fear you’ll only end up frustrated.” 

James laughed and stood from his chair, coming towards them. “Come to bed then,” he said, then looked at John, his smile growing. “Both of you. We can talk in the morning.” 

When John climbed into bed a little later, he pressed himself against Thomas for the first time since he’d left them on Maroon. He felt safer, more at peace, than he’d ever done in his life. He was no longer alone and he fully intended for it to be that way for the rest of his days. 

***

There was nothing remarkable about the small settlement. It was a row of houses, nestled near the foothills of mountains that loomed to the North. There was a shop, an inn, and not much else. But James somehow knew, the moment they arrived, that they’d found it. They were on the edge of it now. Civilisation would come eventually, because that was its nature, but for the first time since they'd left Nassau it felt almost far enough away that he could breathe. 

The house was not far out of the town. It was too small, but they could rectify that easily enough. It was near a stream and overlooked a small outcrop of trees. They could see anyone coming in every direction, but there was still enough shelter from both the elements and prying eyes. It would also be easy enough to get to the trees or away across the stream if they needed to in a hurry. 

He turned to look at Thomas and John, who were standing quiet behind him regarding the house. 

“It needs a porch,” John said, mild. “I always imagined myself on a porch.” 

James smiled.

“We can plant a garden over there,” Thomas added in the same tone. 

He loved them. He loved them so much that there was nearly no room left in him for anything else, not even regret at everything they’d left behind. 

***

It wasn’t easy. Shedding Flint left him raw and exhausted. He slept when they finally settled themselves. The house was easy to acquire, cheap as no one had the desire to make the necessary repairs. But then James found he had no will for it either. Not at first. He slept instead. Thomas read to him. John chattered idly. But they otherwise left him to it. It felt like every part of him was weary, worn down to the bone. Some days he found he could barely lift his head. Those days John and Thomas stayed close, pressed to him or sitting at his feet and reading. He reached for them, laying a hand on their arm, their shoulder, soaking in their warmth. 

It was weeks later when he noticed the leak in the ceiling. He rose to find the tools that Thomas had purchased when they first arrived and then had left idle since. He fixed the hole. Found another. Fixed that. Thomas brought him tea, smiling, his eyes crinkling at the edges. James kissed him, gentle and sweet. 

John held the ladder as he fixed the outside of the roof. He complained about it, nagging that if James fell he wouldn’t be able to catch him. But he stayed all afternoon until it was done. When James climbed down he leant up to kiss him. Then asked about dinner, complaining that they couldn’t leave it to Thomas again or they’d not be eating until midnight. James pressed close as they went inside. 

“A porch,” John said, grinning, as he opened the door. “We need a porch if we’re to be proper retired old men.”

Thomas brought back news from the town. It was growing, slowly coming to life as those that sought to push as far away from society as they could get found it. There were questions, Thomas noted, about what they would do. How they would deal with the troublemakers. James was silent in response. Thomas didn’t press his opinion, just gave him an outline of what was being discussed, as mild as if it were just one of his books. 

James went in when they started to talk about how to deal with the natives. He could smell the fear coming off the people in the town the moment he arrived. John looked at him out of the corner of his eye. 

Thomas bit down on a smile. “They’re meeting in the inn,” he said.

James glared at him, but he went. 

***

They made the house into their home. Thomas insisted on bookshelves before anything else. James taught them how to cook, though Thomas took to it little better than John had. John goaded them into building the porch before they’d even finished a kitchen. They sat out every night until it was too cold, even when they sat piled together. 

They filled the space over months. Finally he unpacked the copy of Meditations that Thomas had given to him, a lifetime ago, the only thing he’d taken from _The Walrus_. He placed it carefully onto the shelf of their bedroom next to the book John had given Thomas on their journey across Carolina. His heart stuttered as he looked at them side by side. It was an emotion so overwhelming, a joy so intense, that it was almost painful.

The town grew along with its needs and problems. Thomas gave no pretence that he wasn’t intending to influence its creation. James held back but found himself being consulted anyway. He gave advice. He sought out dissenters and encouraged them to see the merits of his arguments. He never had to take out the pistol he still carried with him, but their eyes would flick to it sometimes before they agreed. 

John made friends. He was a hard man not to like after all. He and Thomas managed with charm what James did with a silent look and twitch of his hand. They were well-liked, even though they kept themselves more apart than many. But the town started to feel familiar in a way that seeped into his bones. 

He could see how John slowly, week after week, began to relax, began to plant himself, allowing roots to spread from the house into the town. He made them go to the tavern some nights. James liked to watch him. His easy way with people, his quick smile, so similar to what he’d seen when they’d first met but so different now, more real, more grounded. 

Thomas worked in their garden, sometimes making jokes about the plantation having rubbed off on him, but James could see the satisfaction it gave him. He swapped books with the woman that ran the shop and they would debate them, animated and sometimes almost teetering into anger. They would argue until John cut in with a deliberate misinterpretation of the text, making them both squawk with indignation until John was laughing and their quarrel was forgotten. 

It was a simple life, he knew. Nothing like what he’d expected. Nothing that he thought he’d wanted. But he grew to love it anyway. 

***

There was a lamp still lit when James arrived home after weeks away. It was late but he’d refused to stay away another night. He hadn’t wanted to go on the exploratory trip with some of the other men from the town at all. But Thomas had levelled him with a look and told him he knew very well he’d only be annoyed when they came back with the wrong plan. So he’d gone. He’d left his home for longer than he’d done in well over a year. He’d hated nearly every second of it. 

He entered the living room as quietly as possible, breathing deeply. It smelt so familiar that he sagged in relief. The room had acquired a new chair and painting since he’d been gone. He smiled, wondering who had found them. He suspected John for the painting as it was of a mountain, similar to the one he’d so liked to walk towards in the Spring. 

He moved through the house, removing his outer layers as he went. He stopped short in the doorway to the bedroom. The light from the lamp in the hall had cast a beam across the bed, stalling all his movements, his hand still on the handle of the door. Two figures were sound asleep, squished to one side of the large bed, Thomas on his back with John curled over him, head on his bare chest. There was something almost protective about his sprawl, the curl of his hand where it rested over Thomas’ heart. Every ounce of tension seemed to drain from James all at once, like his stings had been cut. He took a breath, let it out, but found the energy to move forward was simply gone. He sank to the floor at the foot of the bed. 

The fierce joy in his chest felt overwhelming for a moment. _Home_. He’d said the word plenty of times, had thought it even, when considering his journey back to their little house. But this was the first time he’d really felt it. Of course it was the two men in the bed, the two halves of his heart entwined under the sheets. But it was the sheer familiarity of the rooms too, the smell of the garden and Thomas’ books. It was the sight of John’s boots kicked off at the foot of the bed. He was home. 

He swallowed passed the lump that had formed in his throat. Tears seemed out of place for the moment, but the emotions in his chest didn’t seem to fit and he needed to release something. He took another shuddering breath, eyes focused on the bed, and let it out. He tried to imprint the image they made, press the feeling of it into his bones, so he could carry them with him. 

He supposed the terror that he might come back to find everything gone would never really leave him. Even knowing that John and Thomas would always, always protect each other, that they made a force so formidable that few would be able to stand against them, James knew better than to assume that it couldn’t all still end in blood and pain. He wasn’t sure what that meant for him. For Flint. He would never be entirely free of him, didn’t want to cast him aside in case he was needed to protect this room and its occupants. But this made it worth it. Seeing these men sleeping soundly, safe and at peace, was enough to make the last decade, make the nightmares - waking and sleeping - seem like a price worth paying. 

“The floor isn’t nearly as comfortable as the bed you spent three months making.” Thomas’ voice was soft and only a little teasing. 

He looked up and smiled, although he wasn’t sure he quite managed it through the haze of exhaustion. “It seemed easier than undressing.” 

“Come to bed,” he said. “We missed you.” 

There was another tight coil of emotion, painful in its intensity, at the centre of his chest. “Did you manage to agree-”

“Hush,” John mumbled, stirring on Thomas’ chest and wriggling closer to the other man. “Thomas hasn’t slept in a week trying to fulfil your ridiculous plans for the town and so neither have I. Get in bed and please stop talking for a few hours.”

Thomas grinned, looking only a little sheepish, as his hand went to John’s hair, tugging gently at the roots before smoothing through the strands. The motion was meant to sooth, although which of them it was meant to do that for wasn’t clear. Either way, John stilled under the attention, eyes closing as he curled back across Thomas’ chest apparently happy as a cat. Thomas looked entirely too pleased with himself when he looked up at James again. 

The sight of it was enough for James to haul himself to his feet. He staggered a little and had to reach for the wall to right himself. He was so tired his body nearly betrayed him and the world tipped crazily for a moment. He blinked hard to clear his vision and made towards the bed. Once there, he paused to lean down and brush his lips over Thomas’ brow. He remained there for a moment, breathing him in, a smile forming all on its own. _Home._ He allowed himself another kiss before walking around to the other side of the bed and pulling back the sheet. 

“Boots,” Thomas murmured. 

James held in the sigh and dragged the energy up from within himself to pull his clothes off. Then he was slipping under the sheets behind John. The other man stirred again, arching back into him and allowing James to curl around him. He kissed the mass of curls now under his nose and groped a hand to cover John’s on Thomas’ chest. There was a moment and then another hand joined theirs. 

James let out a breath, everything in him relaxing all at once. He smiled, looking down at their joined hands. He closed his eyes. And slept. 

**THE END**


End file.
